Epoch

Epoch

In the slow turning of stone and sea,
An epoch sighs beneath the weight of time,
Where ancient rocks remember glaciers' breath,
And fossils whisper in the limestone’s rhyme.

Each layer a chapter, each stratum a line,
Written in silence, read by wandering thought—
A span of ages folded into one,
A pause where heavens and the earth are caught.

We mark it with the rise of iron kings,
With steam that curled from soot‑blackened mills,
With poets dreaming in the smog‑grey dawn,
With hopes that bloomed despite the chilling drills.

Yet epochs are not merely past’s decree,
They pulse within the present’s beating heart—
A moment stretched, a future’s quiet seed,
Where every choice inscribes a brand new part.

So let us stand upon this shifting shore,
Feel the old tide withdraw, the new one creep,
And know that every breath we draw today
Adds verse to the long, ever‑deepening sleep.