So much is put on the passing of a second
Pressed with the weight of a world
Like sand they slip through grasping hands
The ever growing pile of a fruitless build
We long for control, a sense of being
To know who we are, and what we're seeing
Counting, keeping track of this and that
We're lost in numbers instead of life
In fact we can't ever seem to find the  time
But what do we lack?
It is not time
It's the same thing other creatures do have
The ability to live instead of keeping track
Never asking for time back
Or for more
They just are
So instead be like a sparrow, or a fox, or a fawn
And stop counting the moments from a watch on your arm
Don't document life with a series of ticks
Take back your freedom
You've got a life to live

Tiny gap

inbetween my teeth;

Two lovers

waiting to meet.

We are faults; we are despairing flaws that blemish the surface of our revolving sphere with the intent of making reparations.
We collapse entire cores of foundations and tear down freshly plastered walls with family portraits and decorative ceramic angels hanging from stainless steel nails.
We destroy entire civilizations, coating citizens in molten lava from a volcano that never overlooked them in the first place, leaving future lovers stepping over their remains unknowingly and blissfully clueless.
We are natural disasters; we tear through corn fields, bring down windmills, and rip shingles off of roofs while toddlers sleep soundly under quilted blankets.
But moonlight shoots through your veins and sun burns from the crevice of your chest and I can't help but cup it in my hands and put it in my coat pocket for safe keeping