Sonnet 11, All Time Is Spend Poem by Peter S. Quinn

All time is spend, though still it's with us now,
Like sun shining on from the winter's sky;
We hold on to fires and passions somehow,
And won't let it escape, or from us die.
Like phoenix it rises and flies in our mind,
And gives us the sweets of seasons not known;
What in the real world our heart couldn't find,
We manage to make, some inside there grown.
Oh time is fading, but memories keep still,
The hours of love though antique are its past;
The burns of desire are there to fulfill,
For nothing in time's ever going to last.
We hold dearly to every love that is won,
And know not its time, though it's from us done.