Clocks are a universal
Lost durations lead
To intense measures,
Time flies like
Bird feathers,
Seasons change along
With this unstable weather,
The future is never
Promised, yet
The now is always honest,
Presence is the addiction
That I harvest,
I shy away from
The past as if I
Have dementia,
The time that I posses
Is a national treasure
That I will continue
To harness forever

– Nick F. Hawkins

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