The Crown Atop the Scepter
How can I manage the time on my wrist
When my piece carries no ticks?
And how can I come to know the face
When it’s always ahead of me every time we race?
If only she could spare me a momentary pause,
A second to catch up, not count ticks, to wade outside her laws.
Sometimes, I feel like a prisoner of her war
Embattled, embittered, eternally fighting to get more
Than what she’s given me–
To be more than what she has made me.
Time, you are what prevents everything from happening at once.
So within your bounds I must stay…no matter how harsh, no matter how tough.
Friend or enemy?
Sister or foe?
The birth mother of Destiny.
Travailing through throes
Of decisions and delays
Me, learning to wait.
Dear Time, you are not my predicament, but
Merely a measurement.
Instilled with great power to hold or release
As He sees fit.
You, the crown atop His scepter
Given grace to solidify order
And protect that which was spoken
At the beginning of forever.
How beautiful you are.
© 2013, The Scribe’s Heart Publishing