Our time, it seeps in dribs and drabs,

It’s caught amongst the dells and crags,

It mutates swathes of babes to rags,

And presently destroys in attacks.


We have but little to feed the mire,

That essence large as beast, bite of wire,

For as it trips, spinning away higher,

It is The Intangible, incohesive fire.


How does it dance high out of sight?

Bringing a flame to shelter the night,

Whilst inside the demon generalises light;

Time is his own opposition in his fight,


For the seeping will never stand,

Though it brings buildings to the ground-

Time corrupts all it itself has planned,

For that end, time escapes man’s hand.

The End

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