The weight of time
The Weight of Time
Time moves like a quiet tide,
softly stealing what once was mine.
Faces blur, voices fade,
memories drift like autumn leaves.
The clock hands never pause,
never ask if I’m ready or not.
They just keep turning,
pulling me forward, leaving the past behind.
I reach for moments slipping away,
but time is a river, and I am the shore.
Watching, waiting, aching—
for something I can never hold.
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