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Aug 2013
My grandfather took a step upon eighty year old feet.
He winced. I imagined a life propelled,
gnarled and burdened by a flock of memories.
And yet I am certain of the durable terror of infinity.
While the sky brightens as an endless cloth, the graveyard
train rumbles down a rusted hill and stops inside a hole.
Claustrophobia settles in and all turns into coal.
Something breaks into shards.

But the mythic firmament is forever burdened
In its endless routine; it has listed onto its side.
Adolescent sentiency catches a long stare and takes it all in stride.
The eyes of the old sky have become disheartened.
The apocalypse will not be drastic or instant.
It is a weathering effect
This poem was included in a musical composition written by my brother. You can check it out if you like at his soundcloud https://soundcloud.com/mrutssamoht. The song is also called Feet.
Written by
Henry Sturm
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