Time (Sonnet) Poem by Mihaela Pirjol

Loneliness, solitude, and sufferance:
Secretly: —the Self does not admit it!
Too proud its nature and too deep its scars:
At its core, —the essence is afflicted.
With each passing day, Time, this ruthless thief
Steals your life with measures of moods of mind.
If by chance, you awake from your thoughts brief
Of joy, you realise life's short—unkind.
Humans—these fragile creatures, seek to mount,
Time, sinks them deeper in melancholy,
And when there are no many days to count,
Succumb to their predestined tragedy:
Only when old enough they sense The End,
And then, their soul to God a message send.