At the Ending of the Clock
The dissolution of wish and dream
Lost the last great exodus
And falls the Wanderer, unredeemed
On the occasion of thin
semblance of slumber
Continued the waxing and
waning and relay of tides
Failing rotation, obsolete
tradition
Repetition, devoid of
meaning, within a Sepulcher
Of lies
Frozen tenebrous frames
Shelter grey photographs of
Long forgotten places
That exist no longer in memory,
In structure, or in shapeless spaces
Not in location, text, or in
whimsical mind
The illusion of Life projected only by deliberate glacier of Time
Has swallowed these and their origin, all
Dust and fading print strewn and hung in empty halls
In melting tomb, unfeeling, thawing
Disremembered forgetful hands without purpose, clawing
Decaying 'neath cracked unclean panes
Decades to centuries toil to fade
Unquiet spirits smear, discolor, and stain
Bitter and brittle and become Unmade