the rocks that rumble silently are mine

earth sounds i hear beat rolls across my room

i scratch the beat  that’s dead created time

and weave into this solid mass time loom

rock is the photograph of times ruin

continuation clings like a disease

yet the living sleep inside a tomb

entertaining themselves with memories

winding antique clocks under christmas trees

ignorant of timeless and flawless days

writing diaries and painting the seas

chiseling emotions from time stained clays

and i pity us, if we too follow

these blind hypocrites  in time they wallow


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