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.