I feel an animosity towards time

It proceeds without caution,

barreling through individual’s lives

destruction and creation embodied

A shallow dagger tattooing memories

in a word.

I swallow in lusty gulps the mana

that ever and again poisons me

with child-like misplaced trust

of the perpetuation of consistency

bathed in my blissful ignorance

in a word.

It’s not enough to hold resentment

towards the testament of our days,

nor is it a hobby to be taken frivolously

It is neither good nor evil,

but yet it commonly holds the dichotomy

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”

Or so the story goes

in a word.