bury the calendar

Just as months recede, time does fly -
Fleeting moments leaving traces.
Meager clock of age does it defy
As witness wrought by wrinkled faces.
Masterful hold has it on mankind,
Jeering at those attempting to tame
Juries eternal having yet still to find
Accusations rightful enough to tarnish its name.
Studying forever and ever learning
Optimal lessons of life to bear.
Now to the heart, the sensation of burning
Deepens the wounds already there.

What more to say? What more to know?
No more to take in; yet much more to show.



_{btw, the calendar is buried in that the months "initial-ize" the first twelve lines...}