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Click hereEvenings are
the best times
for reflection
those hues fill the sky
and wander into our hearts,
twisting lazily
in the breeze as the
batons of cheerleaders
legs splayed skirts arising
should not
every male flush
why then do I see
a flush on that cheek
elsewhere
the stroke of My palm
that feeling of numbness,
after so many risings
and fallings
Man builds and then
time erodes
nothing is the same,
sifting sand dunes
eclipse the wonder of the moon,
Shall the sidereal motion
of celestials body,
turn the whirling one
in His grave
Nay what graves
ashes we will be
Percy said,
and to dust returned
sprinkled as so much fodder
over the weedy flowerbeds
This poem was selected from Lit's archive of over 39,000 poems for inclusion in today's Archival Review.<br>
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From the profane and material to the sacred and spiritual, this covers it all.