Saturday, July 18, 2009

Caesar's Lament

The hourglass never hurries, never tarries.
Each grain of sand is dealt with uniformly.
Alike in their individuality-all drop the same
When unique turns end, speechless in drifting motion.

We want to float,
While always falling.
Our downward spiral
Masked as flight.

Like trees in November,
Like water running a marathon,
Like the disturbance of anticipation,
We conquer yet are vanquished.

Secrets close with the sunset.
Swords rust from old bloodstains.
Promises fade in the moonlight,
And our imagined kingdoms yield.


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