In the Amaranthine Era

In the Amaranthine Era By J. Philip Harris Of all the echoes that I remember All the smallish voices that still linger The precious moments missed which fell through the cracks like flaking brittle embers Short lived and long forgotten Of all the echoes in my box Ones I can't seem to shake They move in pangs of lamentation, of longing, of sorrow and regret Of all the singing songs The happy tunes I've missed Ones my children sang in years unnoticed Yes, the years of squandered time Like run down homes The endless ache churns deep within my soul to renovate them Those avenues are snuffed out flames Stamped into the rock of time The chasm between us is of great But how my soul longs for clemency How I pine for absolution Now, here in the rags of my life Where time has stolen away my verve Here in the dying down of an old flame I am stricken with penitence I am lavished with grief The stone cannot be rewritten But it can be forgotten Extinguished by the One of endless mercy And there in the Amaranthine era I will live what once I lost.