saddened by the rip in his jeans
and the blood on his hands
the boy ate his apple,
the flavors were metallic
and void of color;
his young imagination
was capable of so much more.
then thinking of Time
as a failed construct
he yelled:
why are you asking me if i’m leaving?
i am staying don’t you see?
again Time has fooled me
the boy thought;
he broke his stride, flinching back, eyes gazing,
he spoke in quiet prose:
the coast of man
lies ahead;
we are not dead;
life abounds in secret,
don’t you see it?
then unexpectedly the boy turned west,
fare-welling the sun thinking:
Time is not worthy of remembrance.

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