Gnomon Poem by Brian Taylor

The shadow of the gnomon
slides at a steady rate.
Even if the dial is ancient,
the time itself is up to date.
Though the train sleeps in the station,
the sun just will not wait.

And the ever moving sun
and the clocks that tick and chime
are the chains we use to bind our minds
and imprison them in Time.

Time has no bird, no scythe,
no power over man or Fate.
Having wanted to be early,
we decide that we are late.