| Hope Upon Last Light |


TimeTime ebbs, leaving the past behind, as the falling tide leaves an empty beach. Only our crumbling relics remain, those moments, now sea-changed, when hopeTime
and intention might have coalesced. Or should I change the metaphor? Time is a ravening demon, it swallows all in its indifferently rapacious maw. It leaves no trace
of images and dreams once close encased
in the brittle, discarded skull.
Time has fullness, when its harvests are ripe, yet always plenty decays, the mighty sun gutters, all that remains is endless
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations [link]
The roots of the future run deep [link]
--
"No, but your aunt is related to you naa."
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations [link]
The roots of the future run deep [link]
--
"No, but your aunt is related to you naa."
--
"No, but your aunt is related to you naa."
--
"No, but your aunt is related to you naa."
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