It Marches On...

Time

It flies, it crawls, it never ceases
In youth, it moves so slowly that we’d swear it’s stopped
As we grow, it moves quicker each year, but we may not notice

It goes forward while we sleep
It marches on if we pay attention to it or if we ignore it completely
It treats us all the same, while never knowing any of us

Some claim it doesn’t exist
Others call it the fourth dimension
A few say it’s inexorably linked to space in a continuum

It’s a magazine, it’s a Pink Floyd song, some think it’s an herb
On occasion, there’s too much of it, and sometimes not enough
Some say they’re “serving it,” but then again aren’t we all?

We measure it with two little hands on a dial
We dissect into billions, or even trillions, of parts
We compile it into eons, eras and epochs

Is it to be treasured and held dear
Or to fade away into the background and lost?
Either way, for all of us, it will run out