The Stream of Time
The Stream of Time
Deep in every plant, animal, and human,
Time has left its mark on everything.
One blink and a tiny seed has become a huge tree.
Another blink, a century has gone by.
Deep in every leaf lies a story.
Each story, the enchanted display of life, holds a simple secret.
The secret of life, the secret of death, the secret of time.
Time showers possibilities for the distant future.
Time is like a humongous tree.
One option is just one leaf among many others.
All of the leaves include traces of dystopia and utopia in each memory.
Hope or danger cannot be seen, for time has hidden it well.
Time may bring utopia.
Happiness and joy blossom from each flower in a verdant meadow.
Bliss flies on the cool, calm breeze.
People dance in the summer light with no sense of hate.
Dystopia may appear as utopia comes to an end.
Darkness, red as blood yet black as night, oozes everywhere.
A day with no gratitude always lurks near as light is drowned by the despairing shadows.
Slaves work in a rainy day with no chance of survival.
Time is always unclear.
Something may happen and something may not.
A volcanic eruption may give birth to an island, or
It may bring suffering with its poison smog and scorching lava.
Time works its way through the life of a flower:
From seed to stem to leaves to bud,
From bud to blossom to the awaiting chains of decay.
Thus, time has always pushed everything along the paths of its currents.
Deep in everything, time moves forward.
Starting and ending, life to death.
Forward and never backward; only fading memories bring back the past.
Always into the future, for that is the stream of time.
Looking toward the wide sky, wishing for the cool breeze…
Yearning for the open flight, searching for the lost hope of living in its true home…
Stretching one wing, uncurling the other…
That is the life of a baby bird.
With a swipe and a net, despair captured a bewildered victim.
Once free, now it’s locked behind golden bars.
The lack of space confines the struggling bird, so
It can only dream of the wonders of the air.
Flying through the immortal sky,
There are no chains pulling it down.
Without chains, without bars, without a lock,
It flies through the free world with its majestic wings.
It desires for the open sky.
It desires for the bright light.
To be free from the burden
Is to be free from the cold, snow-white hands of death.
Peeping at the leftover area of the cell,
Worms cover the floor and a still darkness covers the small room.
Pecking at the golden lock that has separated it from its kind,
It pecks to be away from this strange prison.
With a click and a push
And an opening of wings,
It looks upon the eternal blue heavens.
The bird flutters away from the enclosed block and into the dawning light.
A huge flap and up, up away goes the little bird.
Toward nature’s greeting and away from distant torture,
The bird flies to meet the chirping flock.
A swarm that tries to meet the setting glow.
The flow of wind gathers the flock
Toward and beyond the open sky.
With no strains and away from the lonely cave,
This is the life of a blessed bird.
The Land of Snow
Dancing around in the white coating of snow,
Thousands of footprints disappear into the powdery ground.
Running, jumping and creating fun,
For winter is not always there, but it’s there in my dreams.
Walking through the white world,
Admiring the falling snowflakes, seeing each tree pummeled by snow,
Gathering snowballs, glancing at the hills of snow, swimming through this white sea,
I grin at the thought of my winter dream.
Snowballs, snowflakes, snowmen,
Snow angels, snow dreams, and a snowy park.
Puffs of tiny snowflakes surrounding the shining glow of a wintry playground,
I know this is my winter wonderland.
Age 13, Grade 8
NYC Lab Middle School for Collaborative Studies