Time's Turning Wheel is an evocative poem written by Abraham Zachariah about the inexorable march of time which tends to forget the sins of the past and repeat the same mistakes.
Each age arrives in golden guise,
With gods enthralled by mirrored lies,
Yet ash returns, as ashes must—
And no one speaks the names of dust.
The Crystal, once a tethered flame,
Shatters anew with none to name.
Its shards cast down like fallen seeds,
And root again in mortal needs.
The truth, once known, is masked and sold,
Recast as myths the young are told.
A birthright cast in borrowed grace,
Now worn by kings with hollow face.
What power grasped comes without cost?
What knowledge gained leaves nothing lost?
The lie persists that time has grown—
But every throne is built upon bone.
No question stays the turning wheel;
It breaks through bonds once sworn and sealed.
The past may drown in myth’s deep well—
Yet still it tolls where silence dwells.
And all who walk to its chime
Will call it fate—
Not
consequence
of mine.