The Cries That Time Has Tried to Hide

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Editorial and Opinion  |  House: Booksie Classic

How cold the days become when weathered hearts ignore the cries that drift across the shifting sands of time. It is the heart of man that lights the path and elevates the spirits of the fallen and forsaken.

THE CRIES THAT TIME HAS TRIED TO HIDE

By Al Garcia

How cold the days become when weathered hearts ignore the cries that drift across the shifting sands of time.  It is the heart of man that lights the path and elevates the spirits of the fallen and forsaken.  But it is the rivers of a million tears that divide and keep apart the destiny of man.  It is where the overflowing surge of hope spills upon the river banks, and then withers and dies like unremembered dreams or lives that never were.

To recognize the power, the splendor and the grandeur of the Rio Grande, the Mississippi, the Thames, the Yangtze, the Volga, the Zambezi or the Amazon, is to understand the lure that ignites the human spirit and the human mind to seek what lays beyond.  Yet it is the allure of the calm waters and gentle currents that so majestically separate the lands across all time and distance, that deceives the weak who seek to wade across the ever-drifting tides of time to find that which they never had. 

And it is the cries that time has tried to hide of those that never reached the river bank that I hear in the dark of night when the sound of the human heart beats louder than the rushing waters breaking against the earthen bonds that hold too many shattered dreams.  And it is then that I awake from my restless sleep to caress the desperate souls that shed unseen tears into the flowing waters of rivers that never cease to deceive.

How cold the days become when we no longer hear the cries along the river bank.  How sad to have forgotten the bonds that bind and link their heart to us.  For we are the seed of the dream they seek, the dream they want to live, and the dream they want to keep alive.  And I ache inside to realize that the cries that time has tried to hide are those that once were part of me.  And I wonder, how many shattered dreams lie scattered and abandoned on the river bank, along the Rio Grande, the Thames the Volga or the Amazon?  Only time has kept a count of all the tears that have helped to wash away the beaten shards of dreams that never bloomed or blossomed beyond the river bank.

And I am left to remember the listless eyes and hopelessness I saw on the river bank along the Rio Grande, when weathered hearts ignored the cries that time has tried to hide.  And I feel cold inside.


Submitted: May 25, 2021

© Copyright 2021 A.Garcia. All rights reserved.

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