Time’s Say

Flowers that wither
Tether along in the wind
If I were to wither
from one’s sweet memory
Would I be tethered to oblivion?
how shall I live on
after my last breath?
where shall I wander
like a lost nomad.
Will I wander helplessly
like a stringless puppet holding on
to its detached strings.
I wonder where lays my say,
in this world strung to control
with a fast paced clock piece.

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