Time makes no sound as it rushes
In moment-spun centuries
Gathering within its surging wake
Nothing, but memories
Thought is a wandering way-farer
Treading where feet cannot go
Back to the hours that silently slipped
Into Time’s ethereal flow
Within its ephemeral fabric
Of woven mortality
Are heart-wrenching triumphs and sorrows
Brief as sun-sparkles at sea
The babble of being distracts us
From Time’s intangible rush
But oh, just now I felt on my cheek
A drop from its relentless brush
© J~
My 'soundless rush' will soon be full of noise
...the kind made only by four fourteen year-old boys!:)
Matt has some friends over. I think they finally went to sleep a few hours ago!
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!