Treasure Island

Christopher Withers


undone


the permanence of my childhood glance
slides through my aging fingertips,
sentimental forms and shapes
take home within its twisted place.

back broken by advancing years:

what is one mans yearning for the past
or the present to remain,
against the force,
the stars themselves
are powerless to evade?

the great consumer - darkest night,
cares nothing for our fear, our fright,
and all the dreams we once held close,
fall away like sun drenched snow.

sun rise, sun set,
suns end in embers met:
as great as humankind become
our fate is sealed:
to be undone.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 09, 2008

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