AtLast_[07]

>> Seasons <<

Young ladies of springtime a twitter Proving the look of their legs on the men, Embellishing lips,eyes cast aglitter Skirting the guise they circle again. In kind men respond with imperfect resolve. Era on epoch this process unfolds As vision whets, male brains just dissolve. That's how our species upholds. Should I love the ladies? Of course. I'm so framed. But a grasp on their manner? Well, no. Clock working ticks to the tricks, just the same, Yet exactly how, who the hell knows. Her time had not come before it was fled. My watch now as stilled as a stone, Seeing nothing, feeling nothing, nothing but dread, Cursed of the sun, of the stars, of the moon.

I tumble in mind as a cog on no wheel Frozen through time without scheme Too far run astray to contend or to heal Nor youthful enough to mask in a dream. On, on, ever on, the wheel grinds No check lives to hobble it's weight The hum of the spin numbs mortal minds Blinding we prey to it's sate.