Of Games & Candles

Time is etched like memories

on the membrane some

call fate and others chance;

none there are now to

gainsay the swinging pendulum

that swung so far

yet never returned at the

unstruck hour on the

unremarkable day that

slipped quietly away and

lost itself somewhere in the mist;

others say that carousels have

stopped running rings around the moon;

and when the moment comes that we’ve been waiting for

we’ll discover that in truth he left us far too soon.

 

 

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