Time is an angel or wild juggernaut,
Time is a hope or a vain after thought.
An invisible destiny bearing a clock
Goes silently there where you run or you walk.
The pendulum is muted, no hint of a storm,
Till the fateful wheels mesh in crashing alarm.
Then you say time will heal, but it's only a myth
Of the heart and the soul you are battling with.
The hours march on. . .in the schedule they keep,
Your tears will be spent but another will weep.
Yet time is an angel; it brings you the dark
And a shore with a haven where dreams can embark.
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