Jean Hansel Bryan
The Stream Of Time - Poem by Jean Hansel Bryan
I go back along the stream of time
darkened by human blood and tears.
The air heavy with the sorrow of departed souls
whose presence still seems near.
Waves break the silence as they lap on the shore
lapping, lapping down through histories time
that reached into humanities core.
Along the stream of time are many graves
full of worms, who cared not if they ate king or slave. In the stream of time there has been much pain and sorrow,
many lived their lives in vain, hoping for a better tomorrow
that never came.
As I go farther back by the stream of time
it seems the dead in the stream resound even more
their cries being carried in on the waves,
lapping, lapping at the shore. I turn and come back to this day
to walk on in today's time stream.
All around me the meek, sick, dying and the mean.
The stream is still being fed blood and tears
people all around crying in pain and living in hunger and fear.
Once in awhile laughter pierces the sky
but overshadowed by haunting cries
as the world in sorrow continues to pass by.
The voices of sorrow, the voices of moan
God hears from Heaven's throne. In the stream are blind men who cling to other men
and worship them as gods, as watchers of their keep
followers of these false gods in sorrow weep
many falling into unawakened sleep.
Into the stream is a mounting throng,
"Population explosion" some call it
and all together go along
side by side, rarely is heard God glorified.
Since the Garden of Eden the snake is still in the stream of time
slithering on his belly on the soil,
unnoticed he gets ready to strike in silent coil,
then he strikes and causes many to slip and fall in his slimy oil. I continue to walk along with the throng.
We will all soon be out of this time stream
and no longer be seen
to be replaced by others already approaching the scene.
Times stream is always full
never scant, never quiet, never a lull.
Down through histories time stream
a continuum of cries, moans, and the meek and the mean
and too many still in hunger and in sickness and pain.
Sorrow fills my heart for this hurting world,
ever changing but still the same.
I bow my head and whisper the saviors name - "Jesus."
Comments about The Stream Of Time by Jean Hansel Bryan
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You