time is cruel and precious
it heals but also cuts deep with
its long and sharp blade
blood drips from my heart
every minute on the clock
a murder of faces,
memories and occasions
a heartless killer of words,
images and laughs
its hideous crime, however,
is none of the above
time kills our soul
which dies slowly,
consumed torturously
till we are out of the last ounce of joy
and the fatal shot is death,
the hole that will never heal
