The Pen Healer

I fixed my eyes on the clock,
lost sight of how it flew.
Time is a wingless bird

Today, we are birth on earth’s tongue fresh and savory,
Moving through the futility of life in our cavalry.
Our bodies becomes harbor where desires come to dock,
and our hearts dance to the rhythm of their songs.

We are sojourners floating through this space
like fragrance lurking in the atmosphere.
Libation, incense & our skin we burn chanting as we toil.
The aftermath of this menace leach on us like a lecherous leech
until we fall into the snare of time.

Tomorrow, we are plucked out of our bodies,
discarded into memories.
A memorial is erected in our stead.

This is how life flows through the eyes of time.