tick-tock, merry goes the clock

Time is a man-made calibration that haunts you in the waking hours of the day.

Its expansion fills voids with temporary morbidity:
Fear,
Worry,
Death,
Loneliness.
Constant contemplation.

Thoughts long forgotten slip into the crevices we hoped would close.

Time.

This cold has settled over towns leaving decrepit structures to fend against winds.
It spreads its spores, overtaking fighting souls, entombing those who once rejoiced in their naivety.
Time is a sickness.
With each breath, each step, there is a stumble, a creak.
There is no pause. Nothing is temporary.

You can't escape this.

The Flowers in Her Hair

Her world spins her around. A new beginning. Her bare feet causing circles in the shell filled sand.
As she releases her locks from the ribbons braided within, the sea breeze carries the melody.
She hasn't danced like this in years.
Her shackled feet didn't forget the steps to her favorite waltz. Her aching heart remembers the tempo.
She remains nimble.
Her frail body sways in elegance.
This is a dance for all to see.
The crowd gasps. They see her true beauty, her true form.
She is blooming. She is growing, again.
Her hands reach for the sun. She accepts its rays of hope.
She may be malnourished & bruises, but they know, even a dying seed can bloom into the most poetic flower when given warmth and sustenance.
All she has is time & she will grow, she will dance.
Watch her bloom.

Here Take This With You: Cage the Elephant