A Riddle in Time

By UberSamurai | Scribbler's Saloon | 21 Jan 2022

Did you not worship me, once upon a time?

Did you not bring goats and rice and seeds?

You said your love for me would never be forgotten

You said your children would forever spread my word

Yet, here I stand amongst the corpses beneath the soil

Here I walk against the oncoming storms of spring


I gave you life as if from a spring

My gifts to you were like those from a lover; always on time

It was by my grace that you were raised from the soil

and sat upon the throne of the earth to spread your seeds

Even so high, you looked higher still and claimed the word

of my truth was no longer relevant, so it was lost and forgotten


Oh, what beauty you could have achieved had you not forgotten

that there is more to happiness that what you perceive to spring

forth from what is old and simple such as that single word

Live was my command, but you lost yourself trying to time

the moments of your life and now you fade away like lost seeds

caught in the winds that never made it into the soil


You weep and scream obscenities at the sky as if the reasons you soil

yourselves like babes should be overlooked and forgotten

You travel through life against the flow as the salmon that seeds

and dies lives only to fight for a single chance to spring

forth from the river and be caught in the jaws of the passing time

You were supposed to walk alongside me. I gave you my word


I realize now that it was my fault for giving you such a simple word

by which to grow into the light of the world from the fertile soil

I only meant to let you live freely, not trap you in the finite time

between the first and last moment you beheld the light only to be forgotten

when oblivion takes your heart and leaves those you love in the spring

I wanted you to grow into your own light. That’s why I gave you the seeds



You were never meant to ask me why I gave you the seeds

to infinite possibility confined only by how you defined my word

You were meant to see your end as the catalyst by which to spring

passed the bounds of your world from the soil

You were supposed to learn that through death, knowledge isn’t forgotten

but passed on to be reinterpreted by your own offspring throughout time


I gave you the seeds and you planted them in the soil

I gave you my word and like me, it is forgotten

I gave you the spring and you did as you should have and left me in time

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Writer, Lifter, Dungeon Master, Gramma friend. Sloths rule. Oblivion Waits and Forgotten Father are self-published on Amazon. Add James Hutchison to the search to find them if you wanna support me and give me starred reviews.

Scribbler's Saloon
Scribbler's Saloon

Short stories and poetry

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