A River Run - pipTalk Forums

How to Join	Member's Area	Private Library	Search	Sanctuary		Login
Main Forums	Discussion	Tech Talk	Mature Content	Archives	A home without a wall, Our haven without ends, A circle we all call Our Family of Friends!

Dark Poetry #4

A River Run

sullivanthepoet.com
Member

since 2007-06-28

Posts 154
Devon, England

0 posted 2007-09-06 10:37 AM

Bubbling, taunting, time's dark tide,
each eddy swirled,
in sagging flesh;
In days, in hours, speeds our slide,
our being hurled,
to tomb from creche;
No sooner fecund than denied,
disdain time's breakneck, lethal ride.

Crack boned, withered, stooped and bent,
each moment run,
folds 'pon its mate;
Life's blood, creeping, near to spent,
each rising sun,
adds yet its weight;
And thus each second 'thout relent,
In crushing, marketh man's descent.

Weak'ning, feebled, sinews strain,
to beg their frame,
once more erect;
Wanting, trying, through the pain,
to brief reclaim,
lost self respect;
How vengeful gods make years our bane,
when potent youth's spent wraiths remain.

Mirrored, frowning, lines portray,
each furrow ploughed,
without consent;
Scribing deep each steel edged day,
In veins stood proud and wrinkles lent;
Thus revelling in man's decay,
does time our swift'ning span display.

Knowledge, hard won, weights its worth,
'gainst failing mind,
that scarce recalls;
Wisdom, harboured, from man's birth,
To nought consigned,
wets where he falls;
A lake of tears, a cup of mirth,
to silent slake some acrid earth.

Hard life, hard passed, fades to grey,
Consigned to dust,
all trials borne;
Each pain endured, cold away,
each love each lust,
cut down like corn;
No mem'ries triumph o'er decay,
None worthed above another's fey.

Living's harvest, loving stored,
lays doomed to soil,
to rank decay;
Each ear, each grain, scant reward,
All life's cruel toil passed dark away;
No bellies filled with living's hoard,
Its sum from nought, to nought restored.

Conq'ring, lacking, coined the same,
No winnings pays nor debt foregoes;
Dies cast, random, call the game,
Yet not one day's,
their falling owes;
Sham spoils the cheated victors claim,
When whispers time the Reaper's name.

Comes the darkness, comes the why,
we pain to live,
for naught but this;
To bear each blow, breathe each sigh,
Our all to give,
for one cold kiss;
In death's embrace from womb we lie,
Each moment lived to naught but die!
www.sullivanthepoet.com

	⇧ top of page ⇧
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format.