Image by Danielle Farrington copyright 2020. All rights reserved.
Whispered words pulse through the veins of time,
returning to the heart from which they bled.
And every drop of love that has been shed
reflects that I am yours and you are mine.
The span of life we shared is but a drop
of blood, released from time's great beating heart.
But we do not control the progress of that dart
of time that pierces all and will not stop
until the end of love, the end of time.
David Pearce is a Swiss writer whose stories have appeared in Purple Wall, rabidwriting, The Dog Tales of Bowling Green, and notanothercyclingforum. He has just finished a book recreating certain Breton legends, which is now with the illustrator. A collection of his short stories is soon to be published. Currently, he is working on a dramatisation of the trial of Jeanne d'Arc presided over by Pontius Pilate.