the avarice of time

the avarice of time is unmistakable
cruelly rolling my flesh through the dirt
like a blind and callous dung beetle
leaving nothing but meandering paths
and pock marked speculations
defying the simplest interpretations
of what it all was ever for beyond this—
the banal flecks of dust left behind

and yet

when honest thought pierces gray morbidity
colors emerge of such unexpected vibrancy
willingly painted upon this gloomy canvas
by the most creative and caring artist
for you have illuminated this darkness so deeply
that I might ruminate for eons yet to come
and never again encounter a single strand
of that once ponderous web woven by ravenous time

me and my favorite author, Laya V Smith

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