Time Poem by The voice of silence .

Time, like sand, slips through our hands,
It seems to be here, yet already gone.
All that remains are the moments we've held,
A growing hill of days, of hours, of seconds.
It will all pass, yet we cherish this mound,
Enjoying it fully for all of our lives.

Each fleeting instant — a seed in our garden,
We gather memories like cherries from branches,
And within our hearts a sweet fruit grows.

Time is the artist who paints out our path,
Blending joy with sorrow, hope with worry.
But in every moment, in every glance,
There shines a light — a star to guide the way.

Let the sand fall, still it lives in our soul,
Filling the space like a luminous stream.
And each moment, a flower of priceless bloom,
Remains with us, though time may carry it on.