The new age is what remains
Of what crumbles as it extends
It's sinewy hands on a road of memorable debris
Mixed with memory of rain and the electric heat

What is true as ice and fire
Has turned to ashes soon, as the building in the corner
It joins the rest, like the tears of skies
That are stars which know the joy of freedom

Yet, saddened by their lack of mirth on this earth
I know with isolation comes a need to be noticed
With being noticed comes a need for solitude
What remains of the past is her fur and wainscot of her house

What covered us in a storm
Has gone from the tattered welkin, if it existed
What gave us green on a grey day
Once had shade for weary travelers before autumn fall