Time
The rusty gears begin to grinded.
The sound of metal scraping metal is ear wrenching.
Fragments of iron drift in the scorching breeze, the particles shimmer like autumn leaves.
The toothed wheels work together to alter the foundation of tomorrow.
Let go of the disappointments of today, their dark shadows cling onto past in order to hold blame.
There is no more worrying about what happened yesterday, history can not be changed.
It maybe arduous labor, but its efforts are monumental.
Copyright © Whitney Hart | Year Posted 2016
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