Ruthlessly inexorable, relentless march...
where to and for what, dares he importune,
unheeding weakness or backbones with starch,
Father Time's pied piper trilling shrilly a rune?
When passion's a mountain whose pinnacle, man's goal,
panic seems the precipice he traverses in retreat,
past despair's Sahara sucking dry his scarred soul
till the will can't cajole futility to its feet.
Love turns blind and unkind, consuming itself,
combustion its zenith, thereafter on the wane.
While duty's urned ashes gather dust on her shelf,
anniversaries may remind there was once, the swain...
prenatal contrivance, (ancestors unknown,
resigned to the same from prospective descendants),
used flotsam, eddying gene debris, wind blown
sapiens spore...vainly pursuing transcendence.