Disunited inharmoniously,
yet another gap in humanly circles;
revolving outwardly with meteoric wavelengths.
Sighs of maddening regret,
gaining in barometric pressures,
moving fronts of turbulent swells.
Fissures in the playing fields,
polished surfaces,
once wealthy in standing room,
now host jagged peaks and unfathomable depths.
Is it any consolation
that time contains the means
of undoing such disrepair?
[16:59|25.7.016] ©c.thom.carter
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