My Times are in His Hands

We know it’s pointless to try to change the past,
so why do we strive so to try to change the future?

I dreamt again of the old-time cowboy in the silent movies
who simply cannot accept the death of his beloved
so he rides, faster than the wind, faster even than time
to do whatever it takes to change the outcome
and finally he does - only to remember passing another rider in his haste
going the other way, much too quickly to see more than
just a passing flash

and suddenly, everything changes again,
someone else has died instead, in someone else’s wishes
and he must ride again, and even more swiftly, to just the right place
that he knows not, but seemingly by incredible chance he finds again
and puts all to right once more

only to glimpse another distant flicker
as of far off lightning over the horizon
and now - it’s all awry again, & he never existed at all
and off he goes again, only to someday find himself
back where he began

with the sinking realization that, time cannot be changed at all
without turning it’s flow into a boiling mass of chaos
in which none can survive, or even ever be.


I dreamt of this fuzzy old film,
of the futility of trying to change the past
only to wake to another day
of furiously racing to try and change tomorrow

and now tears of confusion and despair
as I struggle to release my times again
into His hands
His hands.