Passing Poem by Smoky Hoss

Why does time pass
so fast?
Why refuse the days
to linger and last?

Summer drifts into fall
as a mourning ghost,
haunting the memories
of what was, and giving angst
to what yet shall be.
A distinct reality roams within
the cool wind
of autumn's abstraction.
A longing, a recollection,
an absurd sense of losing and finding
all at the same time.
In this, the sacred season,
there is found a desire of necessity
to both cling to and let go of
everything.
In the present, the past is a melancholy memory,
the future, unseeable, is held
in the hope of healing and wholeness.
Both blending into the mercy of
immortal moments.

'Everything is passing.' becomes the despair
of the times; and yet,
there is divinity in the cool crisp air, a holiness
that carries a longing for something 'beyond'.
A Something that we know not
how we know.

The days do pass
oh so very fast,
but somewhere, both far and near,
Something speaks, 'do not fear,
for life shall forever last.'