SAM TUMBLIN

In Increments

By Sam Tumblin

In increments I walk,
Closer to dirt — it stalks.
Trying to outrun time,
Yet ending in a senseless rhyme.

Life becomes an endless race,
Wearing hollow smiles to save face.
Crowds drift like shadows in the rain,
Laughing softly to disguise the pain.

Every clock becomes a thief,
Stealing youth beyond belief.
Hands keep turning without remorse,
Guiding souls upon their course.

We build our dreams on fragile glass,
Watching every season pass.
Promises fade like smoke in air,
Leaving silence lingering there.

Still in increments I tread,
Toward the earth, toward the dead.
Time stops for no soul to mend,
And every road must find its end.

In increments I walk,
Closer to dirt — it stalks.