Time devours our yesterdays
we hear its approaching breath
hot and blistering down the backs
of the fleeing people
turning the unfortunates
into petrified drift wood
rushing onwards
stepping over
the faint left behind 
traces of ourselves
the smell of campfire smoke
the sound of trumpets in the subway
echo their last as
Time rushes through these streets
And Time again, snarling its way
up and down Hyde Street
under the last flickering yellow lights,
gorging itself on this
 the dearest morsel of the earth
until it is obliterated
the smells and sounds and sighs
of the last generation
exploding from under the crumbling pavement
and in a shower of burning fire falling up 
into the endless sickly green sky
leaving only terror and seaweed
tangled together in unimportant heaps
along the polished floors
where Time, the Conqueror now trods