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The Hour Is Eleven
Author: Shiloh

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The Hour is Eleven...
and the Winds of November
will seem to come early...
The Path has grown shorter,
the Trials have grown lighter,
the Dreams have been cast to the side -
they don't matter now.
The Fears grow less frightening,
the Pains become more bearable,
the Memories are more Important
than Other Things.
Words are more Valued now;
Thoughts that are difficult to express,
but need to be said, somehow
strengthen an Appreciation
of the Hours in each day
as they Pass... as they pass.
Springtime in the park,
a picnic at the beach,
red balloons and cotton candy,
and the ferris wheel at night.
The tender Kiss of one you miss,
and Tears long cried and dry,
are part of that which gives you pause,
as you look Backward to Times Before.
Things didn't seem that important
when they were happening,
but now, as Memories,
they are as Precious as jewels,
as Treasured as Love...
Time is the only thing you face now,
but you face it Alone.
If you are Ready,
then that is your Heaven.
But if you are Angry and In Fear,
then that, surely,
must be your Hell.
The Paths and Turns we took
along the way
will either show as value
for our Time, or not.
It falls to each of us;
there is no way to avoid it,-
it is what we were born to do.
Let us do it well.

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