-once Upon A Clockwork Destiny-

winnowing at the notion of judgment as we ocularize with antithesis, like charlatans in lieu of sore antipathy, and all which we've become since our childhood brush - with dove-kissed innocence; how do we explain our arrogance, so, now, what can we do what can we say to justify us - as perpetrators, desecrators, steel cold bound menstruators of all that's good and pure, despite the 'Human Element', an excuse sore absent of credence; and, shame on us, the likes of us, though mortal life is all we be- for learning how to bastardize purities that once beat strong within good hearts, good souls; will you dare to plead mortality when destiny meets Judgment Day, alone, at clockwork zero, when He who has the final say decides to wash His Sacred Hands- of us all? What do we do when the faces of every clock- mirror the eyes of Modigliani's cold, stone women? ©Frank J. Ryan, Jr.-2019 _- All Rights Reserved -_