Dream's Houri Land Seems Hour Island Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Goals, when perspective's sought by souls, then scanned,
drum rolls show dumb roles, no red carpet rolled.
Story: youth to hoary, soon is told,
breath bold, brash, old, rash, Death strikes out of hand,
just blows away. Just blow falls none withstand.
Some seek redemption, reasons why warm cold
returns as candle burns to t[r]ick wick'd fold.
Dream's houri land seems [h]our island, time's sand
tips scales no wails redeem nor understand.
Alike for sage, saint, sot, faint-hearted, scold,
for true want, truant wanting more than mould,
life's cycle turns, returning not, hope banned.
Speed shadow shapes we hither, thither, cast
reflections that, scarce heeded, never last.