Passing Time No Longer Heals
The wounds of youth, remember them, how quickly each so healed
by Michael Walkerjohn
scratch or cut, word or thought, scars miraculously concealed
flesh and or mind resilient, to the threats that living's trials revealed
each sigh, each confessors moan, salve of youth so quietly sealed.
Deep within the longing mind, in struggling search for healing soothe
upon thought's mourning, such timid theme, a yearn for time removed
remembering strength in one's resolve; life's ease not breaths' confuse
the whispered word always softly pursed, cheeks kiss a hurt's subdue.
Plights then a tears release, impossible though through eyes now dry
lamenting against time's raging slide; worrying as weariness denies
memories of healings sought, without a thought or glance to sun or sky
reach towards what, a relief to share; sleep alone buys naught tonight.
Passing time; endless steps through dark's hours one's neediness heaps
certainty, life's guarantee; those who lie and cheat keep what they reap
changes, we wish for them, to heal the mind and strengthen the meek
remembering thoughts and times; redemption's pause is what we seek.
Conversion, from snidely quips to civility, will to ask and not demand
promotes acceptance of life's facts; self healings tines did not intend
clarity or clear slate of mind; forgotten was conceptions first command
portends that future's stripe be earned, not assurance that it ascends.
Sadly then as knowledge leads; all thought stiffly returns to wounds
all earned as time slops past consciousness, into living's vast surround
soulful tears wept of painful years; mind change perhaps propound
suffer life's definitive work; think it away and the flesh of life redounds.
Youth recalled as age is won; a worn smile and fond farewell
plebe to life now pilgrim grayed, living's down slope death's impel
skins ingrained of mistakes you made, tilt untrue to providences' bezel
graciously so as we grow old, the quests of youth no more compel.