“In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” -Benjamin Franklin

00:06:11… Solemnly, I stare at the watch upon my arm, heart dissipating, emptying of the sands of time. Darkened tides fill the empty void of my soul, beginning to burgeon, buds of Reaper’s desire.  No solace in the world; waters rising above my head…

00:04:59… Only a few sacred minutes left, until I vanish into the etches of time, forever forgotten among a plethora of men.  I shall soon be only a pollutant, to the already defecate Earth of war-torn desecration. But what mark have I left upon this great planet apart from one of indifference and fear?

00:02:32… I’m dying. I’m dying. Dystopia overhangs me. Death follows me, nearly stalking my decelerating strides. It’s coming. The sky is graying. Diaphanous strings shall sail upon the zephyr:  ashes. What is there for me, beyond 00:02:32?

00:00:22…  So much time; I had so much time. But now all is wasted. What have I done? Where will I go? The only black at my funeral is the caliginous sky of the winter immure.  I’ve had time to time to plan for this all my life, but now…


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There is a new writing competition, upon the topic of ‘Time’: the piece may be of any length, however it must be follow a poetic structure.

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The closing date for the competition is the 12th of April.


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