Time

The lines of age, has graced your face,
Life has passed, in fleeting pace,

A memory of life lived,
Creeps up in to the consciousnesses relived,

A youth long gone adores the walls,
The memory of past we try, ignore,

Yet life awaits no soul,
It's consumes as fire, do coal,

The memories will fade,
As we have all, a final date,

Then nothing will remain,
But dust and energy obtained,

A short existence we are granted,
Remember those that have departed...


R.K.

Toil

Thrown into the cage of glass and steel,
Shambling into the rooms without a feel,
Torturing the seat, how much more to deal.

Staring blankly at a window moving,
Thought escapes, the mouth drooling,
Glassy stare of people soothing.

Pulp of wood exclaiming void,
word machine, buzzing, annoyed,
A blob of ink the pulp destroyed.

Drowning noise of crowds demanding,
Timeless meeting they attending,
The walls emptily lamenting.

A color wall screams,
no more of color it dreams,
The light flickers and dims.

Stale drink in cup remains,
Bitter taste of cakes complains,
An air so foul it wanes.

Chimes the clock, its note of last,
as roaches fleeing the outcast,
Remember not my mind this past.

The rivers thick with boxes,
Screaming at each other as oxes,
Tomorrow this again, oh the paradoxes.