A Point in Time

Encased with the decaying confines of father time,

I swing to a rhythmic monotony, clutching at the barest of threads,

a lifeline to humanity. Each swing of the pendulum encourages a mutiny inside.

And I disguise it, hide it, try not to show it but there is a weakness inside me;

one that grows into great chasms of emptiness. It becomes a raucous movement,

jeering at the self-inflicted pain I allow my heart to suffer each day as

it craves nothing more than to beat in tandem with the beauty of life

and to escape the dreary, drab decay of westernisation.