The world is on hold.
The axis has been tilted. Day is
slightly less, a blink, a yawn, then gone.

Events go racing by
with the debris of the lost.
That which we hold onto is slipping away.

We grasp at each other
never sure that our own shore
will ever be secure.

It is all part of piecemeal life,
unscripted ’til eternity devours us,
places us just so, amongst the curios.

Here the eternally unequal
continue to hold sway.
Solace comes in knowing

all things pass and grass grows best
with the drying flowers in the marbled hills
of the eternally equal.