To every man there comes a time,
The time,
God’s time.
The moment,
Precise,
Historical,
The intersection of his life and time,
Between the time before,
And the times that shall come after,
Caught on the cusp of history.
Is time
A wave,
A particle?
The thing that flows
Over us like an ocean?
Or rather, moments
Discrete and separate,
Punctuate points we reach?
Perhaps instead
It is the hand of God,
Guiding, directing one thing to the next,
Each in its proper order,
Beautifully planned
To dovetail with a perfect artistry,
Building a kingdom till all time shall end,
Into the Kingdom’s fullness.
John went forth,
An arrow shot so battle can commence.
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