Single is apportioned, no allele, one alone chained to a task, preparing for a future that lies in wait, tears can’t avert our greatest truth, like a breath of hand it is, why land on a soil only to grow thorns when the limit wasn’t told.
A mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes, a thin line from cradle to grave yet dwindles from a pole to another, like a bird perches on branches in search of sweetness, setting of the sun a closure to every work, the trails of frivolities knows no end, more is requested until it’s all over, with a glance comes a desire for more till dusk.
A passing of wind, vapour it is, the bearer needs to know with each day draws a moment that hurts the truth we think we live to usher us into our greatest truth, a mask falls off revealing an entity who was too busy for purpose.
Inspirational instrument 