Chilled Orchestral

As time has neither shape nor face, we cannot hold it in embrace. As time is soulless in its space, no voice can call it to this place. The record plays, forever bound, with no rewind to turn around. Are grief and joy the selfsame ground? In expression's abyss, we stop to ask. Existing here and there, an endless task. Sending opposing greetings, two as one. Do joy and sorrow matter when all is done? — just a parent of a daughter