What do we poses, what do we really own, what is truly ours?
The sage answered, nothing.

But from nothing we can make much or we can make nothing, that is our plight but also our gift. Life can be simple.

Oh but that takes time. But time is what we have in abundance when life is simple.
Time is the one thing that we truly have; that is until there is no more.
Truth, like spilled acid, oozed from our lips to stain the space between us; we couldn't clean it,
The stain corroded all we had ever done and we couldn't mend it.
The acid ran to every corner; we couldn't stop it.
We left it all to rot away including truth; we couldn't save it.
Truth, Time, and Acid
Poems by Traveler Carlton Lane
Such care she took with words well chosen,
From a heart locked up in pain,
Oh such kindness flowed on the surface,
Oh such anger seethed beneath.
Do you hear it,  Do you feel it, could you ever know,
The pain locked up inside her, pain she'll never show.
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