The Compediums Poem by Benjamin Chiu Uy

The Compendiums

The days into weeks, into months,
into years,
into the cauldrons of time,

The showings never stopped,
I am looking at this great machinery called life,

Time and space and the individual,
Marked contrasts,
desperate straits of events,

The young fire of the innocence,
The middle age simmers of your heart
And the must obsolescence confronting your thought,

How seasons of time's compilations,
distraught you,
enchanted you,
enhanced you,
finally eliminates you,

From the gatherings of life did you encounter,
Such hard wrinkles,
And subjected markings,

the wounds, the steps,
the scramble for life
on the road to nowhere,

Yet otherwise we kept inside,
as wisdom,
finally as secrets,