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Rushing

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When time folds,
we become ignorant.
Blind to the lives we live,
To the gradual occurrences;
Oblivious to the suffering of earth alone
A constrained blur in our minds.
Only a faint breeze that triggers thin threads of memories;
Cloudy.
We are not able to remember those who once were ours;
The rotations of earth on its axis,
It passes without us knowing.
This makes us visionless.
Our eyes shadowed by darkness,
Hearts frozen in eternal algor.
Frail to the touch of heated fingers
Which recoiled from another’s grasp.
We are the ignorant,
The childish,
The dead.
Living lives unknowingly,
Unconsciously,
Dreadfully,
Alone.
The stillness of loneliness bites at our skin;
Howling into barren emptiness.
He is our enemy
But also our home.
The one who delivers comfort
And the puppeteer who deceives.
He is time.
Controller of the days and nights,
Eyes keen to those who wait,
Festering on their frozen and rotting flesh until patience must chase him away.
They are blind to him,
Considering time does not pass for them,
Nor to us.
Therefore we do not live.
We must save ourselves before he robs us,
In the past, before we know it,
He will have our time
And our souls
Interlocking into a bottomless universe
where we are an insignificant blemish isolated in blackened nightfall.






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