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There is no beginning as there is no end.
Forever is upon us.

Its ancient path winds through yesterday, tomorrow, and today.
With flowers full of sunshine, and sorrows stacked like hay.

Birds shout along their path, songs of grief and joy.
Their incessant repetition like a child with a brand new toy.

I tread the path of mud and rain, and then I find some sun.
I struggle over mountains and rocks ‘til day is done.

I try to keep going at a pretty even pace.
But, look! This winding road has brought me back to this very same place!

And must I start tomorrow the same old path again?
Only to find it circling back to the spot in time I stand?

Or is time the same place as a page marked in a book?
Does it really change? Or will it be there when I look?

And can we leaf through it and relive each paragraph,
At any time we want to and enjoy a cry or laugh?

And, possibly, could I rewrite the parts I do not like?
To produce a better ending…

Or, perhaps, a nicer beginning?


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