I heard them sigh in the howling of the wind
For another day that slipped its way through their fingers.
It was dark then.
The world was covered with ashes.
Now things are different, and time is the only thing left that hasn't been bought, sold, traded, invented, invested, ingested, remodelled, remarketed, explored, contorted, extorted, distorted and tweeted about.
No. There's nothing we can do about it escaping out the gaps and cracks in the windows into the night sky.
So we follow it with our eyes, and trip over when the light dies.
Comments about this poem (Blackout by Mina Harker )
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