Song Of Entropy Poem by Clay Dubberly

The setting of a thousand suns,
The wrath of a thousand kings;
The chant of a thousand cherubs,
The words by which we bleed,

Naught, but lost,
In a world of thoughts,
The soul;
It cringes-shrieks-
To a world-so bleak-

And flails, flies,
As if it does not know,
That the return of itself,
To the one whom owns,
Would only lead to sorrow.

A rotten urn (where it is held) ,
At the bottom of the sea,
Holds it there (binds it there) ,
Though it turns, to run and flee.

And the setting of a thousand suns;
The wrath of a thousand kings,
Will do nothing, but prolong a pain,
And be the heart of misery.