The pages will turn yellow
and the script will be undecipherable after time,
and every statue eventually crumbles,
every footstep will be covered in dirt and sand,
and monuments will fall,
and there is nothing that will remain
of this material world.
All things fall victim to the passage of time,
like the sharpest of razors,
it shreds the fabric of matter
in one stroke
tearing what was forever from what will be.
Only passion can withstand this onslaught.
Born from the beating heart,
passing through the gut
into the eyelids and mouths
of all who are willing and open,
filling their being with the need
to bleed for something
larger than themselves.
Flesh and bone and blood
are the first to go when time makes its cut.
But the passion…
The passion is what remains.