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Time
(infinitesimal
fragment}
bounces
in playful
parabola
over bridges
rainbows
and rooftops
as the scythe
of an implacable,
head-collecting
weapon
(seduction
of the senses
its target;
reduction
of flesh
and soul
its ultimate goal).
Abiding
its rhythm
embraces
the ever-present
generous
instant:
nothing more.
We are left
to mend the wounds
of continual
unequal battles
unwilling
soldiers
of time
unwanted
orphans
of life
uncommon
children
of death
unyielding
puppets
of fate.