by Cassandre Smith

The golden pendulum sways methodically
Demanding thought and respect for an action that should not be
As the clock ticks, time passes unnoticed
By those who are consumed to overflowing

Patience, a quality once prevalent, is in want
Whirls of color blur past, rendezvous at the grave; too late
Too late to appreciate the simplicities
Too late to appreciate the sensations; enveloping at every turn, breath

Born, live, die...Born, live, die
The pinkness of a newborn, the healthy glow of success, the grayish, earthy tint of death
As we transition through shades, our life shortens with each turn of the color wheel
Not enough time, never enough time

Float on the clouds, paint the skies, glide down a rainbow
Pause and breathe in the elements
A pendulum's movement is not altered by one's inability to observe the fragility that is humanity
Let each tick...tock define a moment cherished, unforgotten, frozen in time

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