Every birth that card played out
When lucky hand
Pan handled gold,
Zesty children of the moment
With hollowed souls
And metaphor presences,
Penetrate the eyes when
Spoken to,
Spilled in blood like words
Of worlds long gone,
Whispers at the end
Begging for new beginnings.

And time before it began was yours

Had you only seen what death
           death heeds in
A mournful source
        Battered by memory
At present too late.