We build with blocks of time. Our
last hours pass softly as flowers
bloom, and our room is filled with friends.
Then, snap. The trap descends. Amends
are made for the games we’ve played, lost
time left owing as the price each life costs.
So we eschew irksome issues ushered in
to where the weary, wearing thin
pajamas, yammer on about
death, since they tax our ears, no doubt.