The sweeping hands just don't care.
Travisty, normality, monitary.
It can thicken the air.
It will gray you and always prey on you.
You can cease it but never please nor appease it.
You can call it out for treason, It laughs and just spews more seasons.
You can turn around but it's never there.
As you did it's stolen your stare.
Reading these words it's passed us all by.
Taking some with to the place of the third eye.
It can hold us in a gasp.
Really it just laughs....
It's stolen some more.
This thief of our lives ,
Taken our breath, laughs and sighs.
It's indifference is the real pain.
Our vanity, wishes and even dreams can be in vain.
It's call can be long and drawn,
Or as dark as a room when the candle light is gone.
Where does this leave us when it's needed as a tool .
When its said to heal ,all we are all a fool.
