The Time

This world is not about space,
Space we control,
Through space we stroll,
And fly, and run, we even take our toll
By building dams and laying ways
That take us faster through the space
And help us feel like gods,
At least like conquerors of Earth,
On which we're planting gardens,
Like God himself once had it done,
The gardens full of flowers.
But there is something in this world
Of which we better not think much
Like of the things that lay beyond
Our mortal human touch.
It's time that nonchalantly flows
Cry out as we may,
We can not change its current.
Once, one happy magic day,
We found ourselves in it.
That was our birth and since then on,
We travel with the time
That draws us along the shores
Of life that's so divine.
The day of death perforce will come
And, as our Bibles say,
It should be better then the day
That brought us on the way
Of time that, frankly, can oppress
Us all with its lugubrious woe,
As long as we, like gods, that's true,
Can comprehend its flow.