Ellie

14

Misguided

As it goes, rather say flies,
it accompanies you.
Stalks you in the shadows, pulling from you the humanity in months passing.
Months, which turn into centuries- even once you lay
sleeping in the meadow of cement and misery,
Continuing on once we all represent a stone head.

Blinking, you might miss it.
Eyes widened, you surely miss it— for the acres of metamorphosis that come ahead
will blur with your petrifying ducts.

The ticking alerts its victims, who don’t realize
until it’s too late.
They lose track of the flurrying-- and when it’s not there at all
only the sun can progress our minds--
Flood us foolishly while falsening the pretences of precision.

Every moment, memorial, memory
belongs not to us, not to our ancestors, nor our descendants
but to our misguided alliance
with time.