Time’s Hands

Time’s Hands

Time’s hands unveil as morning’s glow fades,
A silver face like pewter forward parades.
In silence, like the dove on fence post still,
The pewter visage moves with quiet will.

The mind holds desires in a brimming cup,
No calming stone of regret to lift up.
As blood flushes cheeks in meandering flow,
A vein in the brain bursts, letting life go.

Skin stays unchanged through centuries long,
Where invented wheels roll, heavy and strong.
Unswayed by mourners’ destiny so grim,
An endless route of minds, intruding, skims.

The turtle’s dark lips part in silent speech,
Each soul burns star-like, beyond earthly reach.
Over rocks of intrigue and fury they soar,
As mapping songs on breezes gently pour.

Stone wise, the world remains a place so hard,
Brute gales and pestilence, hidden, stand guard.
Tempting the margins with blasts of sin’s might,
The devil plays judge, spinning games of spite.