…nothing more

In the quiet hours, when the world is hushed
whispers of grey etched in stone
the hourglass turning over and over, sand cascading, silently sifting
each turn carries a precious memory into oblivion
a poignant reminder that time has no master
I try to catch hold of the precious grains
but they always slip through my fingers
unending moments of devastation
I reach as if to still the flow, my touch, light as a shadow
or a soft breath in the wind
the glass continues turning, singing its eternal song
like soft spring blossoms and the fragrance of roses
the cobwebs and dust of the past are gently circling me
I ache not to remember, yet I still seek you in dreams
sorrow has become quiet, my memories tranquil
winter turns her face away and spring beckons joyfully
the gentle lullaby of time, an endless serenade
the whispered songs that always fade too soon
but for a brief moment, create a sombre mood
then a chorus of evening song brings comfort in the falling night
and the moon is fading, disappearing over the trees
slipping away once more
I am surrounded by ghosts and faded memories
longing for the lost hours, for the days that could have been
but the morning is flowering beside the rippling lake of dreams
pushing the shadows aside in a shower of opening blossoms
the lost hours were filled with perfume
the moon turned cobwebs into gold
and silvered the sands of time
you need remember nothing more
© Ann Bagnall
2013 revised 2025