A story of grief by a man and a boy

seven months

Time, oh Time, why d’you lie?
Go march on, leave me behind
You may give, you may take, you may lend, you may steal
But you may not give back, nor change, nor heal
An august woman you froze in November
Time, oh Time, an ex-friend I remember

4 comments on “seven months

  1. macrothings
    June 10, 2013

    Time is but an illusion, it doesn’t wait, it doesn’t give, it just passes us by.

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  3. Miguel
    June 10, 2013

    That is beautifully put!
    I wish I could express myself so well. Unfortunately,the best I can do is to share a sonnet that has kept me company in the last months

    How heavy do I journey on the way,
    When what I seek, my weary travel’s end,
    Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
    ‘Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!’
    The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
    Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
    As if by some instinct the wretch did know
    His rider lov’d not speed being made from thee.
    The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
    That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
    Which heavily he answers with a groan,
    More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
    For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
    My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

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