By Yesu Ben
Like droplets pushed towards time’s barren shores
Our incidence will bear us to our goal
Not by the wind but each time like before,
By certain will and character enrolled.
The scythe shall every sculpted grassland shear,
And shall have them killed long before they’ve dawned,
And it sees neither greenness nor the years
for we all shall be merged with sea and gone.
The process is a long dark winter night,
A spiteful earth and window-shatt’ring storm.
Glass-like shadows will sneer at breath and sight,
transforming us unknowingly in form.
There is a day that waits but far ahead
It hides in verse that is yet to be read.
