*This poem was just written, not edited at all and posted. I felt the need to get it out. Please forgive my mopishness. Thank you
Time, the aged thief, has come
Silent in the night and prowling by the light
He tricks the mind not to weep, not to see what’s missing
The piece no longer yours to keep
It floats away like a hazy dream, reemerging like a tease
The edges of my grief have worn away to reveal a softer ache beneath
My memory no longer feels crystal clear, bending face and blending voice
An echo of a past life, his hands have moved voraciously
Time, the aged thief, he has come and stolen my grief.
By Victoria E. Schmitz