When is it time?

When is it ever a good time to share?

To say all there is, and will ever be said?

To open the wounds that they may be healed;

and to waken the heart that to live, must first feel?

When is it a good time to make amends?

To push on the boundaries and break down the fence?

To grab hold of time as if this day it ends,

to say those true words that come only from friends?

When will it be, that we can see we?

Free from the fetters and thorns that conceal

the truth behind eyes that are pained and at loss,

the moments that need to be spoke, hang the cost?

Time is Golden

Now is the time, there is no other way.

No time of the night nor no time of the day

is ever the right one, the best one, the sure:

no one can test time and come out the victor.

Always there’ll be loss, and always such a scar,

that reveals all the time that has passed by so far.

But once wounds are opened, despite the deep pain,

and tended and sutured, time can be regained.

Today be the day where your hand touches mine;

the hurt now forgiven; the healing Divine.

Today be the day when our eyes meet without

the one standing guard and the other, sword out.

May sorrow be wiped out with cloths full of love;

may anger be washed out with dove-purest heart.

Today be the day I see you, you see me.

Today be the day that all pain now be free.

Miriam Miles


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