Along the footpath home,
I espy an old apple tree.
Branches grabbing past the heavens
for something more significant.
I toss my knapsack aside
and dig in my coat for my pocketwatch,
while scrutinizing my newfound token,
I see him, Kronos.
I see him, a reflection in the polished metal.
I remember him, but Memory tells lies.
My eyes examine eternity,
his everlasting ebony beard
stretching below his knees.
His golden scythe supporting his
hunched back; an oasis for
his thundering wings.
Clothed in a withered robe,
he clutches an hourglass, forever in hand.
Never did I see him step backwards,
for he consistently walked forward.
He spoke to me bluntly, “Time moves only one way.”
I stared into his piercing blue eyes and round trifocals
which rested upon his weary brow;
for I knew that time never stops,
so I asked “does it ever end?”