They’re calling for you again.
Check the clock for errors,
Mold the clay forever.
Etch upon the stage a memory of what you gave.
Draw with your weathered hand, a portrait of youth.
Smear a drop of pigment towards the sky.
Old friend, where are you headed for now?
Shut the door,
Open the soul.
Begin to end.
© Copyright 2016 CL Hotchkiss. All rights reserved.
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