Time,
Melting away like ice and snow,
Marching eternally onward.
Slipping away,
Like sand through our fingers,
Trying desperately to grasp at something, anything,
Only to find it doesn't exist.
We’re running at a standstill,
A distorted gallop,
No pace quick enough to escape,
The ravages of time.
Mountains will crumble,
Trees will rot,
And we will leave this mortal plane,
Absorbed into the vault of heaven.
Nothing left except bones and dust,
And time.

© Tom Stanley