Like Poets Dead

January 25, 2009
This woodman we call Fate
Bonds and breaks us all.
Our choices mocked
As they fade ‘gainst the scale
Of Life’s mighty tempest
We toil still
We rise
We fall
—Like poets dead—
from the pinnacle of ecstasy
to the depth of despair
through the best of times
we march in blind content
as time lingers
—and appear to take flight—
through the worst of times
we stare dejected
up the staircase of heaven
pleading redemption
calling for diffusion of
this evanescent hope
We waiver
at the mountain peak of Destiny
awaiting our path
as he who pondered to be
or not
for when time comes to ought
No thing remains
not Life
nor Verse
free will
Swept away
as dust
Memories lost
as the waning tide.

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