Time Is a Mother

Time is a mother with silent hands,

rocking the hours we cannot hold,

she hums in shadows, soft and deep,

turning our memories into gold.

''

She feeds us dreams, then takes them back,

like tides that kiss and leave the shore,

we grow within her endless breath,

yet lose what we were before.

''

Her voice is found in falling leaves,

in ticking clocks and fading light,

she teaches loss without a word,

and wraps our pain in gentle night.

''

We run from her, yet seek her grace,

in every wound that longs to heal,

she breaks, she builds, she lets us fall,

so we may rise and truly feel.