Thursday, January 20, 2011

Shiva's Dance

It's a gnawing feeling,
The last of one's kind,
At the ending moment
Of ending times,
Where birds fall
Like snow flakes
And the stars begin
To dance
And water turns
To brine.

Most prophets are
Like a broken clock
And most clocks
Are bound to break.
Besides time itself,
Has ceased to tick,
Stopping for a smoke
Beneath a banyan tree
Where a pleasant breeze
Drifts cool and sweet.

From the shores of Allegheny
Across the Pennsylvanian sea
You talked about your life
Among the dunes of old Nebraska
And the sands of Iowa.
You said you once found a fossil
Beneath a banyan tree.

And then you told us tales
About the lost human race.
Strange creatures, you said,
Who fell from grace,
From carelessness,
With little trace.

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