For centuries man from the sun
sought guiding light, but cycles turn, -
where light is now one day will none
remain to kindle hope or burn.
And so it is - who live for fun,
who after resurrection yearn,
together rot, - since time begun
there is no Paradise to earn.
No pattern, when all’s said and done,
emerges that man may discern, -
where is the empire of the Hun ?
So little learnt, so much to learn !
What token’s Time, how is it spun ?
will Earth in ice end, in fire burn ?
and if the All invent the One -
comes coot from egg, haunts egg the hern ?
Author notes
For last line see Tennyson The Brook
I come from haunts of coot and hern ./.
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Courtesy welcome and extended [Reward: double points]
Comments
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I like the underlying questions this asks....questions asked by many, I think. How will life end, is there life after death, etc. Seems like sometimes there is no 'pattern' to life, and just when someone thinks there is - the patterns change.
Great wording. I enjoyed this. Good luck in your contest.
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This held my interest...
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