like hills filling lines in the sand
bumps of children playing around the room
so many children playing and free
in the imagination of time
floating clock of cream
churn the cream to butter
molding the children into adults
curdle the cream into cheese
why the abuse that so many face
if only change the race
of rats from mice to men
over and over singing for friends
but the abused stand watching the clock tick by
they see it backwards upside down rewind
spinning faster trying to fly
they see the clock hands turn to dust
tick tock clock of sand
gears of time looking over the years
memories lost and found
a person of whim always around
they dip their feet in whatever they can
melting prints wherever they stand
walking but dancing
grinding the wheel
churning the ocean of the cogs great wheel
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