The Passage of Time
In the quiet moments, I sit and trace
The lines of time etched on a familiar face,
Once unburdened, with dreams like the sky,
Now shadows of worries are creeping nearby.
Days roll like rivers, swift currents abide,
Carrying laughter and love as they glide,
A playground of childhood now overgrown,
Where echoes of innocence softly intone.
Old photographs dusted, the colors have faded,
Yet memories linger—both joyous and jaded.
The swing set that creaked, the treehouse so tall,
Now sits as a ghost, where the wild things would call.
I walk through the hallways of my own shifting mind,
Retracing the steps, the lost and the blind,
Friendships that blossomed, then withered like leaves,
Some stayed for the summer, while others just leave.
Time molds us in silence, yet speaks without voice,
It whispers of change, like a heart's whispered choice.
We grow and we falter, we rise and we break,
But every sweet moment, there's something at stake.
The town that I knew, with its small bustling streets,
Has grown into something—new rhythms, new beats.
The café replaced by a chain with no soul,
Yet deep in my heart, the old memories roll.
And as I peer closer, the mirrors reveal,
The echoes of youth, the passage we feel.
For though we may change, and the world may renew,
The essence of time shapes the me and the you.
So here’s to the seconds, both heavy and light,
To the laughter, the heartache, the dreams in the night.
For in every heartbeat, in every year’s flight,
We find that through time, we can shine even bright.
Copyright © Macaroon Turner | Year Posted 2024
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