The soil was made and so was man. Every cell, every breath, every time is the same for everyone else’s, so why not yours?
Experience. Life happens. The pen writes when the storyteller begins to speak. The hour hand turns after minutes have passed and seconds have completed the rounds.
You see, he speaks, she hears, they feel
We all bleed the same in the end
Dreams rushing to the open air
Memories running back for more
Hopes and wishes of years gone by
All bleeds for time to heal, life to come again
Nostalgia in the heart
Logic in the mind
The end is still the end
Originally posted at https://theprose.com/jmasalgado
Yakapin 