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Saturday, September 11, 2010

Time's Quiet Sound

Time simmers quietly
Behind closed doors
It gathers it’s age
Carries it’s dust
Without sound
Sometimes too quick
To be found
Before grey resounds
On eyebrows and temples
Memories gather
To chat and compare
Of good and bad
Of Love and scorn
The praise of newborn
The salient sorrow
Of those lost
Crimson suns and golden fields
come and go
Multi-colored hues
Displayed on Nature’s breast
The seasons turn
Accrue and soon
That quiet simmering
Sound of time
Tolls loudly upon your door
You gather your Life’s riches
In the pocket of your soul
And walk quietly
Hand in hand with time
Through that once closed door
Upon heaven’s corridor