Mark J Fenton

Stealing time, grabs so suddenly, our youth away.
Stealthy time, with it's unseen aging hand, paints wrinkled, our once smooth faces.
Thieving time, steals our most treasured memories, then, over years, blurs them all.
Crooked time, unheard whilst it does the crime, as age creeps on, slowly deafens us.
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As my heart grows dark and rich with sadness,
so too does the sky blacken with a fearful and
stormy countenance. Both sky and heart battle
as the clouds above to earthly cheeks, rain tears.
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Your words, are my love. And my love is hearing your loving words.
But what if these, my loving ears, became physically deaf?

Were I deaf, then merely by your slightest loving action would I then be
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When eons pass and as all things in time must alter.
My love, till time's end, will forever remain constant.
From mountains to man, all will diminish to dust.
But unchanged love will, in infinite growing strength, eternally stay.
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All altering time’s painted canvas of my sweet love is wrong,
For to my mind my love’s not changed her appearance.
'Tis but only time’s illusion that appears in her changed.
Time changes not what I see of her sweet innermost beauty.
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