Time's convenant with our skin
assures that we will shed and discard
all that has hindered and scarred
what once held our heart's remiss.

Over and under, the sun never falters.
Yet our words like stones have weathered.
And time, like a carpenters folly, forgives
nothing and seeks excruciating splendors,

In capsizing any change of winds in our faces.
My friends are molded and casted, like the lines
among our creeks we used to skip stones like
vows upon the ones we called upon ourselves.

Love is an enigma, it serves no one the same way, as the bread to the dead soilder, we breathe silent air yet relish never in it's savor. Thus, granted is our companion that's ever the same.

Ever the flame, Ever the claim. Bring storms and heat blistering to the layers. Time is change, yet hearts are always laced and tied among the same knots and ossified traits.

However, there are those moistened enough to fall through these constraints. Speaking of no one, yet many refuse to confrom to your incessant strain on growth and acclaim.

Time, I will conquer and many others will too. Yet those destined to remain in destitue disillusion will forever fault anyone but themselves, and pick up nothing except their own burdens, all the same.

I will clamor till the walls burst and stomp on their ruins with fervor and disdain. Let the seasons come and bring all the renown change. Like the promise of clockwork, I will never remain in any place.