The archaic, dusty hand moves steadily,
Moving upon each slot eloquently, yet,
Uncaring.
Each tick, every second.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
I feel the emptiness, the absence,
The lack of substance.
My light, it stands before me,
No, it has gone.
Time has stolen it from me,
Taken it from my grasp.
Gone.
Why did it have to go?
I ache, I long for it.
Please, return it to me.
I wish to hold it, savor it, adore it.
Give me more time.
It's never long enough.
Never.
Unless eternity.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 7:33 PM UTC
The archaic, dusty hand moves steadily,
Moving upon each slot eloquently, yet,
Uncaring.
Each tick, every second.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
I feel the emptiness, the absence,
The lack of substance.
My light, it stands before me,
No, it has gone.
Time has stolen it from me,
Taken it from my grasp.
Gone.
Why did it have to go?
I ache, I long for it.
Please, return it to me.
I wish to hold it, savor it, adore it.
Give me more time.
It's never long enough.
Never.
Unless eternity.
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