Passing the Time that Is Passing MAG

May 3, 2015
By John_Shewbolt BRONZE, LACOMBE, Louisiana
John_Shewbolt BRONZE, LACOMBE, Louisiana
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

It was pushing on.
I felt I had to stop it.
The vines grew, tall and strong;
I promptly ripped them out of the ground.
Furious with desperation, I dug my fingers through their roots.
I tore them from the soil and endured the torture of watching them wither away.

Roses sprouted in the spring.
I would not stand for such mockery;
I plucked them from their earthly home,
And placed their heads gently in my mouth.
I ripped them off with my teeth and consumed the petals.

Rain soon arrived.
It spotted the landscape.
The puddles were like a disease –
A disease that seemed to mutate daily.
Every morning the puddles were smaller.
They shrank back into the ground, and I could not take it.
I finally resolved to do something, so I dug a hole where every puddle was and buried them all.

I ripped up the grass.
I made sure no trees grew.
The clocks were an ever imposing presence.
I had no choice but to wrench the hands off of them.
This failed to stop their incessant ticking which drove me insane.
I slammed the clocks into the ground and pried out their gears one by one.

All this, however, did nothing to stop it.
The sun was always there, reminding me.
I swore to myself that I would one day destroy it.
I swore to myself that I would destroy the moon, too.
These vengeful promises meant nothing; there was no stopping it.

Every time I blinked, more wrinkles formed in my arms and legs.
I could feel it wearing me down each day, making me weaker and weaker.

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