Buy Backs Poem by Savannah Pearson

As minutes are spent,
to soothe our worries.
Life rolls by,
while our insight remains blurry.
If time is so precious,
then why is it instinctive to waste?
Yet when death comes,
we're taught to make haste.
Disregard the virtues and manners,
gain a flexible perspective.
When the storm changes course,
we still are defensive.
When the cogs have stopped,
and the world stops turning.
Who are we,
with a 'lifetime' burning.
Apprehensive against the end,
when the bells stop tolling.
Turning a blind eye,
to a facade too controlling.


Souls have no currency,
or neither in high demand.
Traces of rancor line them,
discolored and bland.
A bite out of the heart,
through valves speak the righteous.
Bitter and metallic,
will nor duplicity could deny this.
The tissues wither as they're grasped in hand,
as deceit drips to the ground.
Crimson stains line the passage,
except for the souls found.
To rescue them,
risking sanity to fight for one plea.
Misfortunes resurfaced,
hindered from breaking free.