Friday, June 18, 2010

A critique of pure reason

Things change, we all know,
Through stillness, winds blow,
Rivers abate, oceans swell,
Silent sometimes falls the bell.
Flowers wither, trees turn bare,
Nights shroud sunshine fair,
Born to die, old we grow,
All of these, I too know.

I knew you would go away,
To a land where angels play,
I'd be left, bereft of love,
Arid earth, grey skies above.

Yet this knowledge is no use,
To a heart left recluse.

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