Upon the memories I drink life’s sweet elixir

As if that could ever really heal the damage done

Nevertheless not a soul is safe

When doubt creeps in

To contemplate the actions taken

Or lack of

perhaps this is the greatest torture the spirit encounters

Battered and bruised

Beaten to failure

Leaving only a silhouette of the world we once knew

A shred of hope dimming as the seconds tick away like the embers which a fire leaves behind

Only symbolic to the greatness it once held

The hands of the clock appear to be like razor sharp blades cutting away at the very fabric of time

Once cut it can no longer be undone

Knowing that the end draws near

What would you create in this…your atmosphere

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