Erratic Crow

Brittle boredom bourne in my bones
Soul aches from lack of breaks
Wish to wait in willful wanderlust

But time keeps on ticking
Sand keeps on trickling
Through the hourglass
As short seconds pass

O fickle Fortune,
O capricious Chance,
what an erratic tune
to which she makes us dance.

You cannot full escape her,
yet may run far or draw close.
If Luck’s absence you prefer,
it’s pure labor you’ve chose

I see
glass, but nothing
myself.
For as
wonder begets
reflection,
many find marvels in
Mirrors
in marvels find many.
Reflection begets
wonder.
As for myself,
nothing but glass
see I.

Time is a Murderer,
a cutthroat assassin
that ruthlessly slits the throats
of the people
and places
and things
you love.

It is an endless parade
 of marching seconds,
a patient and silent
Teacher

Lightheartedness
is like a Bird
flitting lightly through
gnarled branches

soft feathers of sunlight
bright and weightless
but ever so
Delicate

shattered
by one Word
one sickening thud
crunching woody bark