Who was the man that preset the world to such a strange clock

That grief couldn’t stop, that the Sands of Time became

whet by a flood of tears

as the children become Peter Pan (never grow up), not because of innocence

but because they were born fully grown.

Welcome to the burning sun, the drought, the earth quakes

and quivers

I hear the ticks like fists, the tocks like weights

Each day a step towards you, a step without you

I see it fly, dates that become circles that spin, the same hell repeated,

a blue flame that doesn’t burn, just boils (my blood)

and spills the cup of tolerance into uncontrollable emotion

I still cry, the same tears that ticked by before, the same memories

the same dates, remembered and passed

Time may be a man made construct, but we live by it

Made a home in absurdity and called it truth,

Rolled the sound in our mouths like candy and licked our lips

as hope set in

That time led to a future

instead of

The End

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