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Time passes by,
Marked by the tick and tock
Of the circle on the wall.
Mocking us, taunting us,
Until we clock out of this reality,
And move on to the next.
We see our lives,
So clearly in hindsight,
Unable to change the past.
All things being equal,
And opposite,
We find perfection in the voids between.
The times between the moments,
Scattered dreams,
Moving like spirits among us.
And as the pain fades to black
It turns into our yesterdays.
Marked by the cruel tick and tock
Of the circle on the wall.
Tom Stanley
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