O Tempora! O Mores! Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Life's cycle spins
as out and ins
around each other turn
so treat with Time
as patterned rhyme
which earns its own return.

When day is dreams
the night it seems
may channel second-sight.
When night dreams on
the flow's fair fun
is spun with silk insight.

Priorities
today would seize
tomorrow's scene may spurn.
Time calls bluff. Breeze
blows into freeze
as seasons spin, thoughts churn.

Thus Time and Place
Man's petty pace
too soon evaporate,
what now seems grace
lose sense sans trace
with second thoughts' debate.

Some things perhaps weren't 'meant to be'
yet in themselves set wheels in motion,
effect/cause continuity
unites to catalyze commotion,
to shake sense of complacency
secure which for a time emotion
will foster till THE time can BE,
as earthquake underneath the ocean
clears air with fire, or earth with sea,
and, acting as a cleansing lotion,
creates fresh opportunity
replacing egoistic notion
with stimulating harmony
proactive as a magic potion
to soar above conformity,
closed shop loco locomotion,
and find at last lock, door, and key
irrelevant as age promotion,
or narrow sect which will not see
that empty [w]rite is wrong devotion?

Beliefs now held
by Time dispelled,
with hindsight seem mistake,
fresh visions meld
perspective welled
from insight, change may make.

So outside Time
and inside Rhyme
flow patterns patterns' flows,
One came from where?
and Whence to there?
the answers no one knows.

We could flow on
with meanings strong
upon life's vale of tears
from berth to bloom
from birth to tomb
in tune with Aeons' ears.

This verse terse, rough,
though off the cuff,
offers an insight which
aims to reply
to inner eye
as of themselves lines stitch.

(1 March 2013)