2 Stages

Seconds?

Minutes maybe?

Surely not a year?

Sat,

right here?

No.

No.

No!

Rotting away,

left with the memory

of another life,

swallowed by the empty 

promises of tomorrow.

Faces,

faces are replaced with

a single black dot

above the eye,

out of jealously

or perhaps out of pride.

Hours?

Surely?

No!

As an hour passes,

one’s life drifts

into the abyss,

never to quite return.

– – – 

And in the blissful morning

you shall rise,

thanking God 

for the beauty

you have created.

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