Tic tic the clock goes on,
Monitored only by the beeping,
Signs of a fluttering heart which,
One moment moves on,
But the next,
Is gone.

Some struggle on,
Callused and old.
Others fall short,
Still young and fair.

Amongst the questions I could ask,
Were surety guaranteed.
An explanation I would inquire,
About this mystery.

Why some will live and,
Other die,
Perhaps I’ll never know.
Still, content I can’t find myself
Admitting that it is so.

Do I really wish to know?


I do not believe I do.

-Taylor Glenn Pritchard

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