Forked Tongue Poem by Bill Cantrell

I am the son of time,
The only begotten
Don't ask of my father for he abandoned us
I have examined your theories on us,
You are as far off as the sunrise to the sunset
The past is dead,
She folds it in increments,
And hangs them to fade in the sun
And there is your clue
Who is the one understanding this?
The term history repeats itself is an armature illusion
The clouds pass by but never exactly the same
As regards a hint to the answer to the clue,
She uses them again
Think deeply at what I just said,
The answer is in each grain of sand
Your problem is the way you word your questions
A brief example which even you can understand,

Three men went to a hotel
Each were told that it was ten dollars each and so they did so,
The total amount equated to thirty dollars,
So they went to the room
The manager realized that he had charged five dollars too much,
So he called the bus boy and said I charged them five dollars too much, here is five dollars go and and split it between the three, the boy got halfway to the room and thought to himself I don't know how to split five dollars three ways, I will give them each one dollar and keep the other two for myself. He knocked on the door and gave them each a dollar back so they had paid $10 and they got a dollar back so that means they paid nine dollars since One dollar was returned to each…, so 3×9 is 27 the boy kept the other two,27+2 = 29, where is the other dollar?

You get the point, when you try to explain me, not knowing the basics, you word your conclusions according to your predetermined math as it were, go back to the grains of sand,
For the hourglass know they hold the key