Crickets chirp in blades of grass.
The clocks! The clocks!
They tick too fast.
The birds sing happy morning songs.
Today is always all but gone.
Brittle like a crumpled flower,
held by childhood hands—
holding onto every hour,
the hourglass, and it’s sand.
Catch this moment, fading fast:
tightly grip it in your clasp,
dare deadly terrors reach you last;
let it not from in thy grasp.
Clouds! They billow up above,
our Sun too soon to go away;
softly singing like the doves,
she sleeps all night, and works all day.
The clocks! The clocks!
They tick; they tock.
They tick and tock,
and will not stop!
As time goes by,
they all tick faster;
through hope and love,
and then disaster.
Through pleasure, pain,
and falling rain.
Always will it stay the same.
brandon the writer | author & staff writer for sir swag 