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Clockwork

Time passes,
And our each allocated space and span is
relative to the rhythm of lives
being lived alongside ours.
Strength and sinews fade with sickness into
just memory
But what Memory!
What memory that hums with resonance,
A deep echo of what was;
'tis no longer there,
true
But we each hold our memories dear
and our clockwork ticks along
in sync, in time
to those who came before us and mattered.
And in our time, theirs is preserved
as will ours in turn,
when our gears too are replaced
from the machine of all things.
But our place, and our parts,
are not forgotten, and will live on in the
continued ticking of time’s rhythm.

Altre opere di Johnny Cammish...



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