As time is ever moving, driving fast,
into that ultimate moment, the end,
when all futures are burned, consumed, at last
—our broken histories no hope to mend;
As falling sand slips ceaselessly into
a void—no hand this hourglass may turn,
thus what is done no one can now undo—
and loss, perpetual, our minds soon learn;
As tic to toc into infinity
leads on into unspoken consequence
—our silence is a bare obscenity,
from madness we, our tongues, hold in defense;
As ever more the shadows stretch, the light,
a moment found, provides me time to write.

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