Four Year Mark

Going through the motions, never to know

Time is passing in an endless loop

The pattern is broken only by the last stroke

The time has come, the last bell rung

A lugubrious gathering, the show of an end

The stage, a rite of passage

Cap and gowns, surrounded by eternal friends

Silence covers and cuts the senses

The shallow breaths echo like thunder

Time slows to a halt with words

Forever a cliché

A sea of red rising like the tide

Silence broken by hands coming together                                                                        

The sun sets on our time here, never to be seen

Time passing is an absolute, it is people that are uncertain

When the known leaves, the unknown enters

The question to be asked, does the pattern change once we move on?


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