He never set out to steal her.
He wasn't the thieving kind.
but somewhere in the course
of eras and centuries past,
it seemed to be a fate sealed certain
that he would pull her away.

Like young, doe-eyed children,
skipping rope and squishing worms
on the morning playground,
they just connected.

Time didn't matter.
In fact, it just stopped.
Folks sippin coffee,
mugs and paper cups

suspended

in the common air they breathed.

Pups in mid-stride,
tails stuck to one side,
with kibbled, playful tongues
forever lapping up the morning dew.

Seconds became golden,
for just a lucky few.

But time can play
melancholy roles,
draped in wrinkled
dark cloaks on the stage of life.
It can sneak up
behind the bushes at dusk
and set the suspension loose.

He was scared.
He didn't want to be a thief.
She was brave.
She never thought of him as such.

So, escaping Time,
they pulled each other away.

Twenty-sixteen
rolled in like a
Midnight rover,
and absconded all the souls.

"Give me your artistry;
your bits that expanded
the human element.
Give me your aged beauty
to tuck away in history,
never to love again."

Twenty-sixteen
barged in like a cattle thief,
and slaughtered our prized
bulls and heifers,
then left their bloody skins
in the dusty field.

"Give me the meat,
I've left hide for you to eat
if the scraps be cleaned.
I am the reaper,
harvesting year
Twenty-sixteen."