Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Sonnet #113

What has three hands, a face, and a pulse
And power over lives as if a God, but nothing
resembling a heart, nothing resembling
A soul, a sense of decency, a power that's false?

What never looks back, never feels bad
for what has happened before, just pushing
onward, always pushing, forgetting
all that came before, never happy, never sad?

Study it all you like and see what comes of it
The mystery lies in how we fail to mend
The truth of ourselves into a single daylight
To balance what we really need against the end
The clockwork lie that we must push and fight
Against the ticking, ticking; Just accept, ascend.

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