Ticking.
The ticking of the clock.
It ticks, ticks, ticks, and the towers tumble
And the tide turns
And the towers… fall.

Falling, falling, fallen.
You are fading, falling, fast.
Fly,
The whisper mutters, flutters, stutters in your ear.
Fly, don’t fall, don’t be felled, fight on.
Fight to win the war.

War.
War is wondrous, wicked, wrong.
War is wittle tiny insects fighting on the ground.
On the water, in the web, in the warm air of twilight,
War is wicked, war is strong.

Strength is super, savvy, sure,
Strength is sublime and also superb.
Some souls have strength to sit and think.
Some souls don’t, they shrink and sink.
Save me, make me, so you say…
But strength cannot define my character.

Character, character, caricature,
Something childish and something confined.
Can I carry on with character?
What character? Oh. That character.
I can chase it’s wildest dreams, but…
Can I climb out, out, onto the cliff I fell off of not three stanzas ago?

Ago, ago, that was so long ago,
Can it have been three letters ago?
Awe is amazing, and also surprising,
And I ought to make others feel awed…
But I don’t have enough confidence and the clock on the wall keeps on ticking.

Ticking, ticking time lets the towers stand tall,
Ticking time takes back the fear of the fall,
Ticking time gets the wicked war over with.
Ticking time saves up your strength (but you have to allow it, you have to concur)
Ticking time shows you your character (or not-character, whichever you prefer),
Ticking time makes ages feel like so long ago.

But ages is relative, there is always more time to tick ahead than behind,
There are always tons of new things (new ways) to try,
Make your own rhythm, it sounds best that way…
And get out of that rut of repeating, repeating, revisiting, rememberi-

Build your towers, stop your fall,
Don’t let the war curl you into a ball.
Define your own strength, and your character too,
Ago is not now, and now it’s all you.