Last Words

. . see the technologists wearing yellow gowns, gloves, and masks examining the leftovers of our violence seeing fleeting glimpses of something not meant for eyes or ears or the spirit inside us whispering about eternity while the clock is ticking I can't hear what people are saying but they can't hear me either so what difference does it make if you seek me and find me or if you don't the clock is ticking either way my presence has been hit and miss lately I am toxic I am losing interest even with music dancing on the breeze singing amid the leaves a song known as the order of the seasons the clock is ticking so loudly now I can't hear what people are saying and they can't hear me either but I can hear the holy heartbeat abound above the sounds of our earthly battleground I can see the holy heartbeat abound in the trees silvered with moonlight yet there is no day and neither is there night the clock is ticking for each of us see the technologists wearing yellow gowns, gloves, and masks . . ~~~~~~~~©2019 Susan Williams