Passage Of Time Poem by Edith Niemeyer

Passage of Time

Time entered quietly—

not through the door,
nor beneath the turning hands
of an ancient clock,

but between
one footstep
and the next.

We came believing
minutes moved forward,
that yesterday stayed behind us
and tomorrow waited patiently
somewhere beyond our sight.

Yet beneath the mirrored heavens
we saw differently.

Above us—

our reflections walked backward.

Below us—

our footsteps traveled on.

And upon the walls
faces long removed from breathing
watched the living
become remembrance.

Tick...

A child becomes a woman.

Tock...

A voice becomes an echo.

Tick...

A name becomes a portrait.

Tock...

And still—

we walk.

Pages loosened themselves
from forgotten bindings,
floating through the Corridor
like moments refusing
to remain written.

Some carried laughter.

Some carried sorrow.

Some carried nothing
but a date
and a name.

We reached for them—

but Time whispered,

Not everything passing
is meant to be held.

So onward went we,

five beneath the mirrored sky,

while silvered footsteps
appeared before us
without feet having yet
touched their stones.

Was this where we had been?

Or—

where we were going?

The clock could not answer.

Its hands had forgotten
which direction eternity lay.

And somewhere beyond
the portraits,
beyond the moon,
beyond reflections
within reflections—

the future looked back upon us
as though remembering.

Then understood we:

Time had never been
a straightened road.

It was corridor.

It was mirror.

It was ancestor
and descendant
passing silently
through one another.

It was the moment
becoming memory

while memory
became the moment.

And we—

still walking—

were neither arriving
nor leaving.

We were simply passing
through the beautiful distance

between

what was,

what is,

and that mysterious instant

when the future
finally becomes

the now.