The thing Healing Depends on

By Andrew R. Duckworth

This is not another sad poem,
But a real one so it is sad.
If the feathers ever represented
Freedom, the eagle is barren,
Waiting to die like we are,
Hurrying along the process.
The medication was replaced
With venom that we enjoyed,
The taste was better.
Do we need time?
Absolutely, but time is so
Precious it can’t be bought.
What little time remains
Speeds to top a mountain
Of sand, useless as we
Watch it drift by.