Dying Poet and Yesterday

I encountered yesterday in race; but was late; Her hands full of world undone mandates, Desires of: good, and evils, of life, and deaths… All now forlorn, and uncalled past relicts Sang your song said she; in hurry Before it sank into wing of history Avoid the maze of nature; they were unpredicts Unclear, unresolve, before you became forlorn past relicts; And your obscure before the womb; And your uncertain beyond the tomb; And your thoughts of fates inequality distributes, Past people drunk in them too; but now past relicts, They had lived, thoughts as you think themselves, They had slept, woke, loved, bore, fought of solve, unresolves, And fate never wait nor stop, nor care about their efforts, They were gone, and sand, their deeds now forlorn relicts, Forlorn me of yesterday now a relics of the past, Would become you of tomorrow, then past, I had seen: king of kings, brighter of brightest, Wealthy of wealthiest; now forlorn of past relicts, I had seen the dept of talent, and genius, The complex brain of an artist, its wide, and ambiguous, And the prophets loved by God, and their close apostles, All their important deeds remember now as tiny past relicts, That life that world ecstatically welcome; That innocent him going to school in calm; That puberty yearning to devirgin tonight; Were already becoming past forlorn relict, That oldman wane in drugs waiting to desolved; That intricate that science in zenith cannot solved; That brain that was beyond all, and above limits; Had come, died, and shrink to forlorn of past relicts, You reading me now, this moment; In Nigeria, or somewhere different, Know that you would died, its a must, Leave good of what would become past relict, Oh yesterday, be patience passing innocuous Nigeria, said I, You knew she wasn't proud compare to few found areflexia, Treat her with kindness, gentleness that befits good servants, She also had good, and witty brain, now forlorn of past relicts.