Ticking Seconds
Slowly slipping, sands advance -
intertwining time as ampersands.
Reflected 'side the amber glass
stands the past in strands of wrath -
beauty mired, in cancer's grasp.
Rolling, flipping - yet answers stashed
in the rampant grass growing o'er lands en masse
'Fore each act there comes another -
the rolling rock that sprung from cover
slowly tocks, emboldens sons and mothers
And though they chase, they may never reach her
The hands they strafe, woven ever deeper.
Evidence seen in seas a'swollen - crashing waves o' ceaseless growing
seasons seizing with breeze and erosion,
advancing steed o' beaches golden - rock turned rubble then recedes unfolding
as branches and leaves go from green to molding.
This the plane, eternal dance - each must wait, each earns a stance
trees and seeds from bottom up, the Hes and Shes in coffins tucked
all face time's inescapable fate
in a hallway of mind on an erasable slate
all of it impermanent as what drains through a grate
balling the slime, rusting chains upon apes
falling from flesh as crushing pain is replaced
with bones and a carcass, plus a name and a face.
Therefore, shall we brace for the prison of strife?
Nay!
Let us cherish our moments borne in innocent bites
for we verily wrawl when given the sight:
yet therein we fall to the concision of life.
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