People move
and cities grow.
Absolute-
the time,
we know.

"That's life," they'll say.
The children watch
their squinted faces
as they talk.
"Life goes on,"
they tell the young
like sour drops
drip on their tongues.

Winter comes
though hardly planned.
How convenient
when Summer's in demand.

"Life sucks," they'll say;
children always do.
Their little hearts break,
but they'll find someone new.
They clench their fists
to wring Life's neck.
But they make their lists,
they take their tests.

When flowers die,
the world revolves.
Summer slides
with the leaves of fall.

"That's life," they'll say,
soon all alone.
Their hair astray
from worldly turns.
With wrinkled hands
and cotton tongues,
the children watched
like Time never spun.


((I really want to revise this; do something with it. I think I have
something, here.))
 
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