Ageless Marvel: The Tapestry of Time
Time, the weaver of our mortal thread,
A silent architect of the paths we tread.
Its arms, unseen but deeply felt,
Carve the valleys the place our youth as soon as dwelt.
Oh, everlasting enigma, each pal and foe,
You grant the seed to bloom, then bid it go.
A river ceaseless, flowing to the ocean,
But in its waves, an odd eternity.
The kid laughs, untouched by your design,
Unaware the hourglass begins to align.
The bloom of youth, a fleeting, radiant hue,
Beneath your gaze, it fades, but nonetheless shines anew.
For growing older shouldn’t be merely a withering vine,
However a deepening root, a soul’s refiner’s hearth.
The wrinkles etched upon the pores and skin’s expanse,
Are maps of battles fought, of life’s grand dance.
Time whispers secrets and techniques solely age can hear,
A symphony of knowledge, each sharp and clear.
The guts, although weathered, beats with richer tone,
For each loss it’s felt has made it identified.
And but, the thriller persists, profound,
Why should the mortal body return to floor?
Is growing older however a veil, a fleeting guise,
To masks the soul’s ascent to countless skies?
Oh, Time, your paradox we can not flee,
You rob the bloom but present the traditional tree.
You strip the petals, however you seed the core,
And in your cycle, life is born as soon as extra.
So allow us to not decry the passing years,
Nor curse the load of age, its weightless fears.
For in your arms, we forge our truest artwork,
A masterpiece of thoughts, of soul, of coronary heart.
Ageless marvel, in your boundless circulate,
We discover the grace to age, to develop, to glow.
Time, you aren’t our finish, however our decree,
To reside, to like, to develop into eternally.
