When I hear the timepiece clicking and echoing along my walk, I am lost in thought and, flicking away the present, start to talk of the ears who heard the sounding years before we did.
The pounding of time inside my fragile skull drives down, and its uncaring pull is persistent.
Situations of our invention make us hear the past; the whispers of the dear children in the long lost nations are telling me the pealing haze that kept them fed throughout their days.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment