The hands continue to dance all through the night
passing each other, running towards the finish line-
that is not there.
Together- one leading, one following
one lending a second, and the other one borrowing.
When the music stops, when everyone else has gone home
the dancing clocks stay
and they spin on.

Our tomorrows turning into History
getting stronger now
or is Time shifting weight?
We fall,
o temptation under cinnamon flavored skies, and the leaves fall with us
orange rain whistling down.
We trudge,
debt in our boots
cold hands iced by frozen over hearts, left outside alone for far too long.
seeing our breath,
We are alive.
We get back up.
Growing smaller
Sweetly bitter
dreaming of warmth- or choosing nothingness over dreaming.
We run, waiting to fall again.
As fast away from our past as we can
through fields of yellow flowers that will soon die under
sunshine skies.

But the hands keep spinning. Keep dancing.
While the leaves fall, and through our falling apart.
Through the missed opportunities and the second chances,
third changes,
fourth chances,
last chances.
Through the fading scars, the sinking friendships
Through the flowers growing,
dying,
freezing,
thawing.
Through the regretted yesterdays,
our forgotten tomorrows.
Through the weeks that seem to never end.
Through our grandparents’ generation.


The hands continue to dance.
All through our lives-
passing each other, running towards the
end of time-
that is not there.
Together- one leading, one following
One lending a second, and the other one borrowing.
Even when the music stops-
When we all stop.
The dancing clocks stay,
and they spin on.