Time

I stand here, searching the landscape for what once was

Wind whistling through my desolate limbs

Sand whipping into my cracked skin by her unforgiving breath

But still, the end is not near, and there is but time to live

The rising dust encloses me, like a vulture circling its prey

Her luscious hydration, absent from my mouth

White seabirds squawking in confusion at the sight beneath

But still, the end is not present, and there is but time to grasp

The tide of my blue friend is visible, his shields pulled under the current

The thick scent of smog lashes against me

Arrays of vivid boxes surround my waist, clusters meeting in discussion every few meters

But still, the end has not come, and there is but time to reprise

Green is a prospect no more familiar to what little I call home

The budding temperature is a threat for worse times ahead

All that was once peace is nothing but hostile

And now, the end is at hand, and the time to change has vanished

So, as I stand here, searching the landscape for what once was

Wind whistling through my desolate branches

Sand whipping into my cracked bark by her unforgiving breath

I take a moment in time. And I fall.