[ Days feel like hours and hours feel like years ]

Days feel like hours and hours feel like years
and all these terse phrases in the present tense
are a lifelong prayer to superiority in indifference,
an off-key hymn of acquiescence to the apathy.

We could be godlike,
the arrogance of faith pacing us
through the stillness of our terrible compassion.
They could worship our wreckage
like bystanders in the aftermath;
the complete history of nothing in one hopeless gaze.

If there is a path it's there in all the countless ways
I can't believe in anything anymore
except this collection of righteous injustice
that will never manage to carry its own weight.
But where do you go when the beast off the path
finally catches your scent; when you can feel it
carving the whispered syllables of your name
into its unknowable mind?

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