A Needle in Time

A Needle in Time


“Eighty is old! Who wants to be eighty anyway, live it up now”., he said.

“That’s not living that’s a slow suicide”, I said.

I continued, “It’s easy to say that now, sitting in the valley of your life, looking up at that big bright sky of time.

But when your climbing to the summit it’s seems a quick way down but only a reach away to the top”.

“Then and only then will you appreciate the scarcity of time”., I finished.


After that soliloquy he took the needle out of his engorged and pale right arm, opened his mouth wide and turned his head, deeply casting his gaze up to the sky one last time.

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If at the moment of conception our life becomes not our own. 

What do we become, but the skin of another, whichs turns to waste.

        copyright RW Erskine 2018

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