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Poem

Time can be a minute
Or it can be an hour
Days, weeks, years, decades
Time itself is a power

Sometimes the dawn of morning
Or heat of afternoon
The setting sun of evening
The light of the midnight moon

Time can be prehistoric
Or after Christ to me
It can be metaphoric
Or name the crown of a King

Time is like a baby 
wrapped in swaddling cloth
Unaware of its surroundings
Except for food and warmth

It could be a city
Or it could be a street
With each of its destructions 
Making a time complete

There was the time of the waltz
Before the band was complete
Afterward followed the Jitterbug
And fast movement of the feet 

There are times of war
And there are times of peace
Earthquakes and depressions
Affecting the rich and weak

There are times of assurity
And there are times of doubt
In the times of obscurity
Tears of unknown amount 

Time when a mans security
Is the measure of his account
And yet when mans security
Amounts to his ability to shout

There are moments when
Time can’t be measured
Leaveing us to pout
Pressure of solution bring answers out

Love and hate the measurement
A finite or infinite amount
Yet time is actions pleasure
When truth of day comes out

A time and times a measure
When God calls you out
A judgment time will measure
Leaving time itself out

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