I scribbled a version of this on Shazeea's facebook wall. I was proud of it and so at 4am I'm awake adding to it for my blog.
Between the poignant and morose echoes of the past ever fading from our memories and the eerie silence of an ominous tomorrow, we live with our eyes clothed in a translucent film of guile, convincing ourselves of a certainty in today and the seconds that have passed with no inkling of the second to come.
What then can be said of our patience? Save that it is an imposed device for we have no means to alter the time it takes for the second to passes us by. Patience is not resolve, it's how we resign ourselves to our fate. There is no beauty in this mechanism, no charm in this construct. Grace is a farce.
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