Beneath the march of endless skies,
The weight of time in silence lies.
A constant pull, a gentle hand,
That carves its will across the land.

Each moment slips, a fleeting thread,
A whisper of what once was said.
The echoes fade, the shadows grow,
As time consumes what we let go.

The mountains crumble, stone by stone,
Their peaks no longer stand alone.
The rivers shift, their courses stray,
Their paths redrawn by time’s decay.

Yet in its grip, there lies a gift—
A quiet force that hearts uplift.
For though it takes, it also gives,
Transforming all that breathes and lives.

A child’s first steps, a lover’s glance,
The fleeting beauty of a dance.
Each moment gilded, pure, divine,
Then swallowed by the sands of time.

It weighs upon the fragile chest,
A...