The dingy parapet resting on earth’s shoulders,
Sprinkled idly with sweet silver rain;
Each burning monument hides its heart
Amongst an enveloping silken sea of night.
Deep below, we turn
Cogs, set in hazy motion
By our womb-like minds.
Yet, sky and endless imagining;
Reflective, akin to the symbiotic
Squirming of ink through water,
Propose a skill becoming of us all;
Though seized, rightly, in few
Hands.
Challenge to build towers
Beyond the heavens, but
Knock them down at the last
Brick- a man of straw,
Drifting quietly through
Fields bearing unripe corn.
Time: ours, but to take or watch tick, as it sucks our
Blood drier day by day, as he stoops atop his grisly
Obelisk of stone and shade, cawing in fresh mockery.
Coin falling; the outcome matter not, but to flip it
shares great courage with those proclaimed your brothers-
From here to nowhere, back again to infinity, navigate upon
This, a richer tapestry surpassing life and slumber.
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