Remember when we laughed at life square on,
in days existing now as only memories held inside,
distanced from this moment
by rotation measure time
we'll never halt
or with any words define?
Words will conjure images
and spark all sorts of trains of thought
careering through the mind,
like kaleidoscopic pictures,
but these we only glimpse upon in passing
with internal eyes
that swiftly frame in wordless abstract
any meaning they divine.
Some things lay beyond
where conscious grasp can't reach,
for time, like truth, is each our own,
unfolds unique to one and all
and lives are lived as days have gone,
no two the same
beyond the passing of horizons by the sun.
And should the echoes of our laughter then return,
when suns now set
outweigh the suns for rising,
will they live with those we leave behind,
when our stream of time no longer flows
and lips of life cease smiling?