Too many people blaze trails through this life, leaving proud pathetic paths carved on the edge of a knife.
Their perfect, pristine, palaces pretend to cover their strife. The truth is terribly tragic and mirrors more of a fight.
Why is there fascination with fast progression? Living at the speed of coffee, rarely a minute of stagnation.
When did smelling, seeing, hearing become hyper senses? No time to stop, the essence of life is…
Treasuring time, timing moments, recognizing love still has potence.
Where for art thou Lingering? Your friends, beauty, quality, and listening?
Your perfect presence is, more than you know required. The scene that you all sell is so desperately desired.
Take heed to the man short winded today, Will he measure life in breaths? Or breaths taken away?