The Sinkholes Yet Succumbed

Hours spell the seconds

Past the minutes which we dwell

Footprint swallows footprint

Upon this path becoming, a brittle, shallow shell

Phonetic lacerations

Pronounce their truths in blood

A blistering apocalypse

Inscribed by quivered thumbs,

Leave us here abandoned,

Forcing forth the question,

“Just how far is it that we’ve come”

                  It’s quite natural, to fear the answers questions form,

Tomorrow’s but another speck, connecting what we want, to where we’ve just come from

                          

By sinkholes yet succumbed.

…Be still thy bitter tongue…