Time writes no wrinkles endless or sublime
Calm or convulsed as if it were comprised
Of the idea of eternity, as if it were a child
Born of the naivete' that most do despise
Sending time on the long hunt for learning life...
Life then paints the seasons, spring to winter
Like building a home with wood that splinters
Like, the minds of men who built the 3-D printer
Confusing the child on his hunt through life's filter
Time writes no wrinkles but allows for free thinkers...
It is within that freedom where life is projected
Upon great movie screens of the minds-eye reflected
Where memories interwoven with time are perfected
And eventually manifest as history then protected
By 'Ultimate Truth', and then carefully connected...
* final edit