I see that time has spoken by the shadows of the light, though the changing of the seasons brings me more than just the night; and the night brings more than shadows as it creeps slowly ‘ore my door, for nothing holds back time as it steals the soul I bore.
I want not to be discouraged with what time has sent to me, but ‘ere to be searching what it hides within its plea. While both the wicked and the good stand equal in their place, time is ‘ere the master with none to steal its place.
For time cannot be captured by the hands who seek it out, to command its ceaseless wanderings without a sense of doubt; yet time is ‘ere to change as ‘oft the winds do blow, sending one and all to fill their graves while itself does yet to grow.
The desire is ever endless to those who think they can; for to toy with one’s own future was not given ‘ore to man. To what end does desire cease when destruction is its friend, the grave will claim its destiny as is the silent end.
The aged hand still works the day while looking on with care, hoping that the future is still able to forebear. The simple glimpse within the veil leads us ‘ere to venture on, with promises to stay our course until our final dawn.
Time is ne’er to be captured like an image in our mind, but pushing ‘ere onward until the end…of Time
Copyright © Karen Rivello | Year Posted 2020
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