The Cruelty Of Time
O, cruel Time...thou silent thief of breath,
Whose fingers trace the fragile veil of death;
Thou weav’st the hours in threads of grey,
Till love itself doth pale away.
Thou tak’st our laughter, sweet and brief,
And turn’st it into dust and grief;
Thou swallow’st faces, soft and fair,
Till none recall what once was there.
The heart’s confessions, still unspoke,
Lie buried deep where echoes choke;
The tender glance, the trembling vow,
All perish...none remember how.
Yet in thy wake, though all decays,
Some fire endures through mortal haze;
For words once breathed with soul’s intent
Outlast the frame that Time hath bent.
So love whilst hearts are yet entwined,
Lest silence chain thy speech confined;
Proclaim thy truth ere night unfold—
Time may erase me, but my words are told.
And thou...hast thine been told?
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