Living Like Lizards

Life is a lizard

on the wall of time —

It never sees the whole wall.

Just scuttles

square inches at a time,

shifting skins, loyalties, 

and lizard-gods,

for a shot at surviving

today.

Lizards come.

Lizards go.

Tails snapped off

to buy an hour.

Tongues flicked

at prayers dressed as flies.

They live

in brief, borrowed verbs.

But the wall —

the wall just watches.

It doesn't chase.

It doesn't flinch.

It just outlasts

everything pretending

to belong.

Once white,

now a patchwork of dust,

cracks, blood,

and forgotten names

scratched in dying chalk.

The first lizard met the wall

like it was discovery.

The last lizard

will die thinking it was demise.

The wall is the beginning and the end —

even if the lizards

want to believe

it’s all about them.