The weight of time

Time is a river, silent, swift,
A fleeting breath, a whispered gift.
It moves through fingers, slips away,
No hands can beg, no voice can stay.
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I held your laughter once so tight,
A candle warm, a guiding light.
But time, relentless, pulled you far,
A wish now lost among the stars.
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I trace the echoes, soft and thin,
Where your voice and touch had been.
The world still turns, yet I remain,
A shadow dressed in quiet pain.
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Oh, time—you thief, you cruel embrace,
You carve the lines upon my face.
You take, you steal, you never bend,
Yet ask me still to call you friend.
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If only love could weave you slow,
Or barter back the ones we know.
But all we hold is what has been,
And all we lose is once again.
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So here I stand, and here I weep,
For moments lost, for love I keep.
And though you're gone, still time must prove,
The deepest loss is born of love.
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Peter mÂ
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