Many things feel good but if they haven't any price
One can't buy them nor offer anything in exchange
What one pays is nothing, compared to the nothing
The hope one tries to buy, is meaningless, it entices
I've walked leather off shoes, a jacket fell to decay
The rains and days and days, as soft passive attacks
Time burns off eternity's clock, it is ticking, precise
“Scars have the strange power to
remind us that our past is real.”
Cormac McCarthy
