Movements of Time

I am guilty of the crime,
Of a wand’ring state of mind.

State of mind that thinks of thoughts.
Thoughts that always get me caught.

Caught in what, caught in why.
Caught in wonder if I try.

And for this crime I’ve been arrested,
On a charge I’ve not contested.

Nor will I, at least for now.
I will make this right somehow.

This will be fine, it will be nice.
I can now be more concise.

I can shut out all the noise.
In this cell as time deploys.

The smell of pee is no moment.
It’s just a trivial component.

Of this peace I will explore.
Sitting still on concrete floor.

Is this a cycle or a line?
This thing I have, that they call time.

I feel the progress of a line.
Yet miss those I left behind.

And the things I’ve moved beyond.
Of times for which I’m still fond.

Of those things that now seem simple.
And redeeming of the sinful.

But while the line moves me fore.
Cycles turn and give me more.

More a chance to get it right.
Or to take another bite.

Cycles small and cycles grand.
Most I’ll never understand.

Earth revolves around the sun.
Generations start and done.

And what of cycles I can’t see?
Bigger ones than you and me.

Spanning ages and the races.
I see effects, but no traces.

To me it seems like a line.
This bigger cycle turning fine.

One that started before dawn.
One that ends when we’re long gone.

So here is a prediction.
I think the line is a fiction.

We can’t see how it will turn.
It’s not something we can learn.

So we assume a conclusion.
Maybe assuage our delusion.

And then I see my door’s ajar.
Though I was fine behind these bars.

Sentences have been reprieved.
I’m not sure I want to leave.

But I move on, nonetheless.
Another cycle turns, I guess.