August 20, 2014

The days pass by Like small notes Slipped under the door To someone who will come home Only later. Later is a time that arrives Almost at once; And the moment that makes up the present Becomes the past, with each tick Of the clock; Living only in memory. Existing only in chronicles and history. Life slips away In the leaves, torn daily, From the calendar That mark the inexorable passage Of time…and our lives upon this earth.