The din of the second hand,
Quickly recedes into the ebbing tide.
We are not one, but we’re the same,
So is time, as it becomes the ocean’s bride.

The tide returns twice a day,
And so do the seconds,
Repeating for an eternity.

If the chorus passes a false note,
It will hang from the ground;
Suspended like an elephant.

Nobody dares to comment,
Or to continue to dance.

We’re all motionless in white,
Looking at what’s passed.

Words meant to cut
Slice no better
Than a knife for butter.

Words that cut
Without intent,
Slice through
With clean, decisive strokes.

False love
Masking the truth.
Emotions felt
To service oneself.

Death grips worth losing,
But remain in your stubborn defiance.

Maybe you should just let go.
We’re two parts of one,
But you can’t stay in now
If you’re clinging to then.

You’ll just split us up even more.

A small release
Of pent up oxygen,

And now I wonder...
Does he hate me?

Why is my mind
So cruel in my thoughts?