What is it that which we do,
makes no matter which way we go,
a harrowing event that falls to the wayside,
destitute and broken, filled with blight.

Roll over and shun our own self.
Reject I, that am all but gone.
Pity self, pity selflessly.
Then reject that too.

Look at the sky,
past the buzzards circling the ravishing corpse.
Once there was more,
and there will be again, a New World harks.

Time passes in longevity,
yet in the blink of an eye-
it becomes the past.
Always so long ago.

Ravines fill with raging rivers,
rushing without respite.
Not realizing that it takes time,
all the energy at once can not change everything.

Not at once.

Lay fallow, heal our wounds.
Rise again with elegance,
or at least determination.

And do it all over again.
From start to finish.
Break down, over and over again.
And do it with finesse.