Blood and ashes

The noose tightens, always. The inexorable momentum of the pendulum. Like a sword hanging over a head, it moves down, down, ever down. One is never free from the passage of time, though one may try for it. Swish, swish, swish. Cutting through without resistance. So many things consumed and passed on in the passage of time. A life, a candle flame in a windy room. *puff*