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Time
I can feel time
As it passes through
Its maze of mayhem.
As it moves moments
Down the right side
Of a slender bell curve
That has blinded a society
Of self-loathing pacifists.
As it eats this body
And preys on another
Until the atoms of one's
Self-creation becomes
Incinerated in its wake.
We are the ticking
In the clock of time.
In which the wrinkles
Of age leaves our
Faces with stories to tell.
Most will never be patient
Enough to hear their wisdom.
The tales where the young will
Set fire to the past generations
In order to rebel against
A rebellion in order
To chase down a fate
Not worth fighting for.
What will we have become
When the tendrils of time are caught?
As the shades of mistakes
Corrode the numbness suppressed
By the everyday Joe.
When he comes to realize
That the black gift
Of self doubt should
Be worn proudly upon
The shoulders of the weary.
Will he speak well
Of the sore sight before him?
There is much to sell in time.
Its stock rises with every motion.
Every sway in the millions
Of arms interlocked
In a common clarity
To except the tragedies
Set before the boots of war.
And every belly bare
Shall never fill the glorious gap
That divides the rational remedies.
Acceptance of an ancestral
Born apathy and its rival
The bloody heart of the fool
Trying to define pride
To this beautiful delirium
Infesting in the thoughts of eyes.
