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Numbered...

Sand on a mandala

blown away, stasis

menaced by momentum,

chased by change,

as Troy's edges 

singe already;

 

such frenzied whimsy

for the student

of surprise, still

ill-apprised

of the sanctity

of a sunrise,

especially when

each and every

sunset has long

ago been numbered...

◄ Indistinct...

Calling Card ►

Comments

Holden Moncrieff

Thu 13th Apr 2023 23:19

Thank you so much, John, for your wonderful comment, I'm truly glad you enjoyed the poem! 😎

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John Botterill

Wed 12th Apr 2023 22:05

I love the determinism of the ending, Holden. Powerful poetry! I love "the sanctity of a sunrise," too. 😎

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