Still Life (edit)

[dukealien]

Time is 
 
a river that no dam can impede;
an ocean without shore or horizon;
the test against which we measure our worth,
or, simply, the between of now and not.
 
our friend.
 
The measure of our life’s tread;
telling us when our parenting begins,
when our eggs are done;
is said, to have no say on those who love.
It is the panacea.
 
the enemy.
 
That holds the future hostage,
denying the past.
Punishes those who grieve,
reminds us how long our love is gone,
plucks the flower before its due.
 
This house we live in becomes our ruin.
Caught in the riptide,
pulled from shore to horizon,
all clocks will stop.
Is there no remedy?
 
We catch a glimpse of time’s heel
measured in the swing of the pendulum.  perhaps less "the" - "measured in swing of pendulum" or the like
The lick quick repose at each stroke,  again, less "the" - "lick-quick repose amid each stroke" or similar
before it wakes to begin again.
 
Kelvin knew the clue.
Temperature is the measure,
ironically, of molecular shiver
that ceases at the absolute of zero.
 
Without motion, 
there is only now and no not.  perhaps "there is only now, no not."
As at the pendulum’s repose,
or me, napping on the couch.  perhaps 'mine' in place of 'me'

My first critique here is punctuation... in the wider sense of typographic organization as well as punctuation marks.  As I read it, the poem consists of three stanzas consisting of a leading line and an elaboration of it - including the title - followed by four stand-alone stanzas.  If those three leading stanzas were set off with indents as well as white space, in a sort of outline format, they might look like this:

Time is 

  a river that no dam can impede;
  an ocean without shore or horizon;
  the test against which we measure our worth,
  or, simply, the between of now and not.
 
  our friend 
    the measure of our life’s tread; 
    telling us when our parenting begins,
      when our eggs are done;
    is said, to have no say on those who love.

  the panacea.
 
  the enemy that 
    holds the future hostage,  denying the past.
    punishes those who grieve,
    reminds us how long our love is gone,
    plucks the flower before its due.
 
I don't insist on the above, but you might consider some variant.  In the remaining stanzas I've made a few suggestions up above.  The title is tricky:  it's really the first line; there should, perhaps be a separate title like "About Time" but, of course, much better than that!

On the whole, it's a good discussion-poem; I'd like it to flow a bit more fluidly (like its subject) but some turbulence is in order given the way we perceive it.