As the clock winds down, these memories crown

This long lapse of time. I look around,

All the people, their faces,

They hide the embraces, the moments and traces

Of intense mediation. We all remember

The mistakes we’ve surrendered to, and intervention

Of this contention within the minds of man’s prevention

To change is futile at best. Without a desire,

the mind creates a satire, to confuse and alienate,

to pierce and penetrate the very foundation

of our existence. So, why do we change?

Is our hope of improvement a ridiculous amusement

of our psychiatric instability? When looking back

upon the errors and cracks of this grand statue

that we call life, we must not seal the imperfections,

or lock away the artist’s intentions. We must look

upon shattered faces and immense spaces

as points of definition with a pure intention

to accentuate them. Instead of daring

to prepare the plaster, to become a master

of shrouds and casters, in actuality

and deepest reality we must learn to color

and jewel the breaks and mistakes,

and never erase what makes us individual.