dashinvaine

Round again to another year we come. Our grief-ridden world grows wearier yet. The panting pace and hectic haste makes numb, and we, stand dumb, seeing the new sun set. Life, like a torrent, washes over us; Time, a rue-river, slips through anguished hands. Merciless is the Hourglass, and thus, we, drowned men, grasp at the beach of Time’s sands. The Mind, still young, startles to see a face so much changed, and wrinkled, and cracked with age: a stranger looking out. But, touched by grace, the Soul, serene, surveys the mortal cage: tranquil Eternity takes wing to climb transcend, escape, the cycled chains of Time.