Seconds pass. Minutes fade. Hours drag. Weeks are prolonged. The sand drops one grain at a time and life moves on. Who created this thing called time and why do we keep it? Punctuality, tardiness, early, late. What do these worthless words mean? Can we set much store in these timeless phrases? I despise this spice of life called time. Little hands squeeze the life out of hearts. The sun rises and falls along with nations. Tides move in and out like the counting of final breaths. Slow and steady like the tortise and the hair raising idea that though seconds be tiny they are powerful, unwaivering, unstoppable. Aging can be fought with creams and scalpels but age is an enemy with no weaknesses and always prevails.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Time (RD)
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1 comments:
Your last posts are showing this amazing trend to take everyday things, or normal emotions, and take them from small detail,through to these massive expanses, time and space, then back to a manageable size.
"Little hands squeeze the life out of hearts."
This thing hums.
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