The Hand Of Time Poem by Gert Strydom
The Hand Of Time
The hand of time
tics without end
and every moment
man is nearer
to where
his life ends
and death that which
he doesn’t really comprehend.
Still like Malthus
I cannot believe
that there’s a cycle
bringing war and famine
that spreads wider all of the time.
I set my eyes up high
to the unseen and believe
that God prepares a way
and all the time
keeps his hand over me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/4/2024 6:20:58 AM # 1.0.0.1119
