Calculated Breaths


It’s just a matter of time

before we run out

like grains in an hourglass.

On the stroke of death,

her hands halt breath.

She doesn’t turn around;

she moves about in circles

but always advancing forward.

Counted tomorrows

are moments borrowed.

Racing against the inevitable,

we stitch clocks shut as if

they would stop ticking.  

Drink from death’s cup.

Your time is finally up.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspired by: “Strong like storms” by Alex Gonzalez

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