Buried

Buried

They always say it gets better with time;
injuries severe as a broken heart
become washed away with the daily grime.

We praise its passing, claiming it sublime
when our wounds ache, our bodies and minds hurt,
They always say it gets better with time.

While it is true that somethings age like wine,
pain is not alone in what falls apart,
becomes washed away with the daily grime.

Feelings of love and joy also decline,
The strongest passions, dreams are often short,
yet they still say it gets better with time.

We forget good deeds like we do with crime.
Truth is both ugly and beautiful art
become washed away with the daily grime

The sands constantly fall with each clock chime
We all become buried in time’s desert,
Yet they still say it gets better with time;
we are washed away with the daily grime.

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