You Know Not What I Now Know

Time will tell what you and I become.

At least that all was not in vain.

Or will it show our striving and thriving weren't one and the same?

Will we see the reason for the feasting or the crumb?

Surely not in this life, and in the next they'll have no name.

Time will show us folly built on folly,

not least those we raised so high

as our salvations and our exits. And no amount of sighs

or groans or wails or gnashing teeth or howls or stacked up sorries

stop the reeling back of time and time and time again of whys.

Time will heal the wounded wounds of time,

and dry the tears of a myriad years.

Then what will we have to show for all the time we spent in fear?

Will we see the difference between the stupid and sublime?

Or will it be as nothing upon nothing standing there?