And This Small Time

and this small time, held by our world of us, turns moment's hope so treasonous, to live for pennies, we waste our dimes, lives knocked about like old windchimes, as shades of then follow close by now, small hands, small fears, flow into rusted years, once flushed with young and fervent vows, lie perched alone on rotting boughs, but if, just if, we dare look above, this noise, those wars, and keep the pace, laughing we'll run in time's cruel chase, and find layered deep in eroded love, sleep dormant hearts of fettered doves.