When All Things Turn to Ashes

The world is continuingly blossoming and changing;
All the seasons in one day
The year will pass its movements
Handing over tomorrow from today.

Everything in place is moving at once
And finds its own room
Allowing each season in its turn then to bloom.

A leaf falls, a sun dies,
A cupped hand
In a water that does not stop
To be damned.

Time; timeless age of the city street
Footsteps through the stone steps and the markets.
City street chatter that flows through passages and alleyways,
Bustles of men and women here today gone tomorrow
Not known but in their hour
Amongst men and women to be known forever.
They pass and pass through city streets
Talking in the dusty heat; phantoms of time.
A life that a million ages have seen before;
Faces Time remoulds to make again,
And in Time’s inspiration invents new men and new women
Unknown to man before
Who belong to their time and to all Time,
Whom a brief hour of their life would name a century.

Time takes lives,
Heals hearts,
Brings the seasons
And the tides,
Turns the constellations in the sky,
Brings fortune and glory to men
And drops them to wretchedness.

For Time doth come to test our toil,
In change we must not be rigid.
We walk life blind-folded to paths naïve.
We must go by ignorance to what we have not yet been.

I stand in the passing sunlight
In flutters of passing shadows,
When all things turn to ashes,
All things in their hour
Through the ever flowing present.



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