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at a clock that, with its hands, choreographed the future, step by step, tick by tick.
Rated: Fiction T - English - Spiritual - Words: 70 - Published: 05-18-08 - Status: Complete - id: 2519312
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"What use are hands on a clock?", he said; "You can't hold on to time. It slips away, it crumbles like a weather-beaten rock".
"That's true", I replied and smiled at him, "fingers on time have just the use as stones on the graves, on those who have died".
He laughed and sipped at his tea and stirred it; "Not consolation for those who've kicked it".
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