Sonnet 23, The Edge of Time

The edge of time that washed ashore
All the pitiful things that the world bought near,
Those withering feelings that gave afear
And to assured affair like rust will abhor;
There is no thing like this or that before
Or what has happened in this of past year,
For memories are like a running tear
That dries away and is therefrom no more.

We must come to terms with dark that watches
The tears flowing from the sorrow faces,
When things are done that drag a soul more down;
When a night of foes the body touches
And a glinting war to the suffer gazes,
When peace has come and made the unrest lown.