Like A Year...

 

Whispers riot in the quiet aftermath of having held

Twilight’s timbre tugs within her as woman and welkin meld

Longing lingers pointing fingers where her flawed farewells run wild

Mercy murmurs like a mother tucking in her sleepy child

Moment-tempo metes mementos dripping from the ticking clock

Breath-soft flickers harden into pictures solid as a rock

My, the saber of her labour can sever scenes subtly

As she staggers ‘neath a dagger that twists with what cannot be

Today’s mirror is much clearer than the one she used to hold

When much younger, she honed hunger bent on panning for fool’s gold

Now she grapples with the apple of time’s eye; sunset, sunrise

Gaping at the echoes taking shape before her very eyes

Seasons meter bitter-sweeter in the afterglow of youth

Reason reckons where proof beckons from the faultlessness of Truth

Wisdom humbles pride with stumbles teaching her about God’s grace

While the hour drops its flower like a tear year none can retrace

© Janet Martin