What is She?

In the moonbeams of ashen silver,
And a sea of churning willow,
Stands her.
Her as in the pale, milky steams of earth,
The burning of ancient parchment,
The copper glitter of heaven itself.
Iridescent and perfect,
But rusted and fractured,
She waits,
In the form of virtue and vengance,
Wisdom and guidance,
Turth and fear
And-
She listens.
She speaks.
She tells of your fate,
Spinning tales of heart-thunderous pace,
Making you wonder;
What is she?
She is the moments flitting by,
The pain of death,
The ease of heart,
The love of life,
The courage of reality.

She is time.