Time is like a gentle breeze hardly felt,
then we find ourselves old,
then we look in the mirror
and see our grandparents looking back.
So we take a step each day,
do what we must,
thinking there is some permanence,
some stable point to rest,
but there is none,
for our past becomes longer,
and our memories perhaps live there.
Possibly when we die,
and we move on to the larger world,
this world, this time, our tragedies
and yes our joys,
will seem like a fading mist
Will we ever understand?
Or is our journey and ever deeper seeking,
an eternal hunt
for deeper truth,
and a larger drink
from the living waters?
Will we eternally dive into this mystery?
just more of and deeper in?
Are we finite creatures
with an infinite ability to grow?