It has been awhile
but not a millennia
where it is sterile...as
time has a style.

and a way with the heart
wears it out for any of 'ya
cannot refresh or restart
melded flesh and metal parts.

the grains of sand, one by one
leave the shattered hour-glassy-
eyed reflection of a fallen son
if a grain gets stuck he is done.

go to the well of tear ducts,
falling on knees so weary,
curled in a ball, knees tucked,
the peace built now . . . . e d.

fill all you own with the saline water,
having no answers not one theory,
as why all that was done like it otta,
eyes will dry, despise me, for all

time,
as leaving,
is grieving,
with out saying goodbye,
it will be said instead,
after all it was his own fault,
that swallowed him whole.