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.

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