The mirror dent, my reflection cracked in several
ways, wallowing in wonder whether mortality is my faith.
My eyes
marry clocks
and drift away
with time, to lands of broken hour glasses.
Where eternity invites the reaper to shape short destinies.
Fears smear
amongst peers,
many phobias
being but one
clear path
death is near.
Life is dear
Death is everywhere but we live ignorantly I guess it's one way of being optomistic after all "ignorance is..." well you know