On the projection of timeA Poem by andrew mitchell
The tendrils of time
lead a mire mortal to his death in the promise….. more time. The grim reaper only a messenger sent to collect: everyone is given a sentence to run with the full stop comes later, some call it the end. There is never time owing nor is time bought just time spent. We are all prisoners living in today waiting for tomorrow to break out. If time flys it’s better spent elsewhere. It’s time to go. © 2024 andrew mitchell |
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Added on November 8, 2024 Last Updated on November 8, 2024 Authorandrew mitchelladelaide, AustraliaAboutStrindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more..Writing
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