Apart From Worldly Things

Never

Eternal time, that healing balm,

a tender thief, unending psalm—

the hand of time will gently soothe

a tattered faith, renew and smoothe

away the threads that hang in rags,

restore to whole what's torn and sags.

Perhaps it's true, all wounds are healed,

when given time in months or years—

the pain worn down, the hurts congealed,

when mem'ries cease to feed the tears.

And yet, with all that time can do,

there still remains the ghost of you,

and every day I live, I know

those slender threads will never go,

will never break apart, nor end

what's torn that time can never mend.