Time

Times have passed,
With little movement.
Rocky ridges have developed on my hands,
With little pigment.
Eyes have hardened,
Which once were soft.

Life have blossomed around me,
With little effect.

The countdown has begun,
With little thought.
Our names will be lost,
Like distant ripples.

Will we notice,
When we are apart of the shadows?
Will we be heard,
When we will sound like the whistling of the wind.
Time has disappeared,
Never to look back.