Ticking Clocks

All the lights,
are turned off and on.

All the streets, driven and then empty.

All the stores, open and close.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Live, die.

Day, night.

Could there be anything that does not follow cycle?

The Pennies We Wished Upon

The mountains were waiting,
When their water had evaporated.

Like a silk twister entering the skies.

Invisible and harmless particles whither and combine.

Condensation, candlelight.
Nature lives the cycle we fight.

Circular motions to continue a breathing Earth.
Suffocating fumes of innocence lost long ago..

Beneath the soil, among the trees,
The absolute panoramic liberties.

Dream on violent winds.
Run on paper ground.

Rain runs the crevasses of the mountains that were told,
To end in a fountain of providence where wishes sold.