Silver Linings: The Elegy of Time
Beneath the load of years, a quiet grace,
The traces upon the pores and skin, a young hint,
Of tales etched in laughter, loss, and lightweight,
A map of battles fought, of desires in flight.
Ageing will not be the fading of the flame,
However embers glowing with a softer identify—
A knowledge born of seasons, deep and true,
A symphony the place pleasure and sorrow brew.
The silver strands, as soon as threads of midnight’s hue,
Now catch the sunlit daybreak in morning’s dew,
A crown of time, not tarnish, not decay,
However proof the guts has weathered, discovered its method.
The fingers that after have been fast, now regular, nonetheless,
Have discovered to carry the moments time can’t kill—
The heat of tea, the silence of the night time,
The realizing look, the celebs’ everlasting gentle.
The laughter rings extra sweetly, mushy and clear,
For each tear has introduced the guts extra close to.
The years have stripped away the trivial,
And left the essence, uncooked, authentic.
The eyes, although dimmed, now see with clearer sight,
The sweetness within the mundane, within the combat.
The getting old coronary heart, although slower, beats extra sturdy,
A rhythm woven of a lifelong music.
Oh, allow us to not lament the passing years,
However toast the enjoyment that blooms by means of all of the tears.
For within the autumn, colours blaze, ignite—
The soul ablaze with its personal internal gentle.
So let the silver linings information the best way,
By means of twilight’s glow, into the first light.
For getting old is the artwork of letting go,
And discovering, within the letting, love’s final glow.
In each wrinkle, each ache, every sigh,
There lies a spark, a reality that can’t die.
The journey’s reward will not be the youth we lose,
However all of the grace and pleasure we’ve come to decide on.
