The minute hand clicking by
time running away with the days
Time kisses each face
with a little bit of death each day
each day a staggering soul blown out
and a baby born
Calculated time, cold as steel
yet, decaying morals celebrate
breath and blood in their beautiful souls
despite the laws of entropy
Time is the shell, the measure
Life its inhabitant, its substance.
© Kristen N. Rea and WildFire Dreams, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kristen N. Rea and WildFire Dreams with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.