quinta-feira, 7 de julho de 2016

The Hands of Time

Dough of dust
The hands of Time
Carrying a jug of vital fluid
Pour life onto the estatic dirt
Forming a muddy mix on hold
Waiting for fermentation
For the hands of Time to 
Knead the dough of existence

From its fingertips
Time sprinkles spices and seasonings
Gently homogenizing the mixture
Squeezed between its fingers

Time molds the muddy recipe
Shapes and decorates
Delicatly lying it on the formworks of Earth
The hands of Time carry unestinguishable fire
To burn the firewood of vivacity
Explosively pokes the eyes for awakening

Time cradles its offsprings
With the rough softness of a gardener´s palms
Trimming the flaws and fertilizing our roots
Seeding knowledge and ripening the fruits of labour

Time picks the sweetness till it oozes
Adds sweetness to the recipe
And when the timer rings announcing the completion
Time gently removes the tray and lets it cool into maturity
Serving to the world another one of its treats
To some, tastes delightful
To others, sickening
But we have all been served
By the hands of Time


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