Gifts of Time
Onward the gifts of time do sow a new.
Inept becomes adept, and yet we hurt,
For time does work, makes change, and thus burns through
The past- a bitter hole in well worn shirt
And now I know far more, but questions form
The hurt I seldom knew now makes a home
Becomes a home inside my mind- too warm
But still I open a book, look through the tome
So wonder why let we harm grow inside
An empty mind without a thought we find
But soon asks I if empty a mind is snide
For full sorrow does come with full a mind
If must you read too much, then be forewarned
Well thought your mind, but still it will be mourned
