Hourglass

Time, cruel mistress.
A relentless march,
stealing, such an ugly word.
It prefers the term: harvest.
Moments, experiences, people.
Gone, in an instant.
Such things are gone forever.

Unless, 
They live on.
Within hearts, memories.
For all its cruelty,
A humble teacher emerges in its wake,
guiding those who seek to understand.
Only then, we can forgive ourselves.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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