Dichotomy

Split into partitions we wait,
time making fools of us
just as the sand is passing by
drawing life's breath to abate.

Redundantly the lines cross
falling out of space
just as it is out of time
removing abstracts
and stranding you
with the concrete.

It is the mechanics,
the gears twisting
as the servos click and turn
making this circular madness
into something all too real,
too caustic for emotion
but unavoidable
because of bare flesh.

Wasting away
as only this one can,
just hold out for the night
and pray the resolution
is less a revolution
and just a little something
with more peace,
where the night may end
after the day has passed.
And all that will ever be may be
and the day may pass
into the dark reaches of peace.