The Sound Of Time

Father Time reaches

with his tightfist grip.

Grabbing masses whole

singing along his trip.

His voice revealed

are simple sounds.

Birds singing softly

flying amongst clouds.

The circle, the cycle

around and around we go.

Some are luckily released,

from vices as their thrones.

I try and I’ll call loud

out into the vast crowd.

Living in haste friends,

you hear not time’s sound.

Injecting numbness

it serves to do no good.

Time will not stop like

merciful fathers should.

When might I stand

on his mountain’s peak?

After a journey so long

where a body seeks sleep?

An exhausting life,

trying to rise above,

found did I a path

via the sound of doves.

Such sounds we’ll find

traversing what time alots.

Bring forth it will avenues

to travel nuanced thoughts.

Seen I have

him reach out his hand.

Bled have I

on mountains of sand.

As it falls

from the hour glass,

I can see

I’m living far too fast.

Doves utilize whisps

and the updrafts of the flowing air.

They rely on time

telling them when offspring to bear.

Bring forth they will

new sound into the world.

Teaching their kin

with the time life will afford.

Time calls to us

it does so so discreet.

It begs us listen

or remain incomplete.

Categories: Love, Peace

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

5 replies

  1. “Listen or become incomplete!” Great ending!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Love the personification of Father Time as a person and not as a concept. Really drives the meaning home. Well done! And thank you for your support for my scholarship vote in my last article!

    Liked by 1 person

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