Strange, incomprehensible, relative, time,
Seems, as the sea, eternal.
Bringing together twofold impressions
Without proof of being.

Unseen image of a land,
Soon to become a reality.
And then the hiatus
The linking span is gone.

Of our voyage, we have no proof,
Dare our scattered senses lie?
With a tangible end,
Was the means an illusion?

It was a drop of eternity,
A ripple taken from Time’s flood,
Swelling, to shrink, unrecognizable,
Into oblivion.

© 6/5/13 Jane Stansfeld