All wounds time heals.
Threading the strings
of minutes, hours, years
carefully stitching up rips and tears.
Maybe no.
Perhaps time is a blade.
Dull and blunt
digging deeper, deeper.
A grim, grim reaper.
Maybe
time can’t heal
a broken heart.
Or all those cuts and slashes.
Those reoccurring gashes.
No comments:
Post a Comment