Sunday, December 12, 2010


Afore, it shook and rattled.

Then danced hereto and fro.
It soared above, so high
It crashed so deep below.


Again it climbed,
Again it fell,
Again it rose,
Under this spell.

Upon its last and final decent,
Or so for that it was surely meant,
It dove below the recess,
It sought out the abyss,
Its foundation disintegrated,
For it death, became sought-after bliss.

The muck through which it raked was fetid,
It could not move,
No longer could it fly,
It struggled daily to survive,
But in the muck it so did lie.

Sometimes the sun would peek for
Sometimes it wouldn’t for days.
Sometimes it lay there covered in its own shit,
Staid in the darkness – sans the golden rays.

At last arise it did, to at least the surface dwelling,
Of flight it was no longer able,
It sought to only stay above – and stable.

But roads no longer lay there straight,
They shook again and often diverged.
As it followed one, soon it discovered it was on another.

And so in circles did it go,
From here to there, from to to fro,
But they had not the semblance of the circle
The roads,
They did not even lead back to the beginning,
But further from the surface – yet no higher.

Every first step was bound to be the last,
And so the world did stop,
As it rushed quickly past.

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