the dreadful march of Time exhausts its mean,
participants who do not understand
their march will never cease--not even when
they pause and signal with a weary hand.
"we've gone too long!" they cry, to no avail,
for Time is deaf, although it is not blind;
its forcèd march forever will prevail,
but with its progress not grow more refined.
in Time we'll march, although we may be still,
and it won't listen to our frantic pleas.
it changes pace according to its will--
now fast, now slow, its marchers at unease.
more ruthless master never has been known;
it cares not for its others or its own.
--1/30/08
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