A book of Poems and Prose
Time runs down the
Face of the clock,
Blurring the actual
Moment where we
Play our part,
Unhampered by seconds
Or minutes or hours,
Poised upon the
Turning point of forever.
It is here that we become
All that we can dream
Or be.
Time runs down the
Face of the clock,
Blurring the actual
Moment where we
Play our part,
Unhampered by seconds
Or minutes or hours,
Poised upon the
Turning point of forever.
It is here that we become
All that we can dream
Or be.
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