Stopped Clocks

Tired skies droop with their grey,
Forming mountain range, and deep ravine,
for my thick brown to love and
print as memories on pages, like gardens.

Falling light tangles with breath,
held close and released after strain.
Beside the road, red flowers
die slow in buckets with the rain.

Continuing struggle grows, and ages.
Time lengthens and trembles, and
becomes fingers as they yearn
for tomorrow’s gentle face.

Tired skies droop with their grey,
Forming mountain range, and deep ravine,
Beyond the desert’s cold and
endless space for shivering stars.

stopped clocks

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