The Loop

An old man crawling,

rising,

fading,

into an endless cycle,

of life and death.

Death, which does not tire

And so life not wade

Nor the fashion of

this loop that lapses.

And lapses 

And lapses

Till the end.

Even this ink yearns to cease

So am I this stolen

This clock broken!

This endless cycle of life and death,

This broken clock that lapses,

And lapses and lapses.