Four Year Mark
Going through the motions, never to know
Time is passing in an endless loop
The pattern is broken only by the last stroke
The time has come, the last bell rung
A lugubrious gathering, the show of an end
The stage, a rite of passage
Cap and gowns, surrounded by eternal friends
Silence covers and cuts the senses
The shallow breaths echo like thunder
Time slows to a halt with words
Forever a cliché
A sea of red rising like the tide
Silence broken by hands coming together
The sun sets on our time here, never to be seen
Time passing is an absolute, it is people that are uncertain
When the known leaves, the unknown enters
The question to be asked, does the pattern change once we move on?