I once knew a girl who
taught me
that "warrior" is spelled
with a silent "T,"
and that caring is an instinct,
not a burden:
Time told her that she
was beautiful,
but she did not
believe it,
for she was broken, and
her body was weary;
she cared about Time,
and, in return,
He whispered in her ear
that her heart
was the highest form
of beautiful
--but still,
sea salt poured from her corneas
for she did not know
just how much Time
she had left;
so,
out of dust and the salt from her eyes
Time crafted
a shield
to protect her aorta
and take captive
her nightmares
--to catch her dreams--
for the day that
Time, Himself,
would run out.