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The Essence of Time

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To question time is man’s forgotten love.
And such it yields more pleasured utterance.
Lost chasing an unattainable dove.
Left with the sense of profound sufferance.
Stumped in a loop of constant persistence.
Forever tempting his decided fate.
Clocks tick with a count of indifference.
With twisted thoughts he can not concentrate.
An offbeat heartbeat as the hands reach out.
He’s fearing what he doesn’t understand.
Taking the deal with a handshake of doubt.
At last glance it’s a distorted black hand.
Now old with the lost visions of his past.
The last phrase spoken “life goes by too fast.”





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