time after time

The knife gets duller with use, the heart is the opposite.
Wisdom is perspective’s refuse, the mind is the composite.
Time beats quicker with age, and maturity slows souls.
Paradox constructs hope’s stage, and faith casts roles.

And what after the heaviest question becomes light?
When peace leaves the scarred heart’s door ajar?
Beauty never steals, but something of mine is missing.
Unseen since spent yesteryear.

Now between moonlit trances, split vineyard stones, wandering
prayers, and three generations of matriarchs anointing me,
I wade breathless into a sea with no name, coaxed by
a soft voice and gentler spirit that breaks under my gaze
and rests on my rising and falling chest.

At the still point of the turning world,
in the whispering meadow,
as moon eats the freckled sky,
we sway to the opening verse
of an inaudible, trustworthy ballad.

Now time takes the pen.
My search continues.
Between malaise and ecstacy;
the curtain parts,
mind melds,
soul slows,
and heart sharpens.
The race is afoot, my love, and no step is predictable.