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Period Piece

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Below is the poem entitled Period Piece which was written by poet Ryan McCabe. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Period Piece

Drawn by the rumour of strange tides
governed by ever-changing phases of the Moon;
straining to hear the distant clashing
of an unrung bell promising all change, soon;
ignoring monthly printed, published 
articles, seemingly, forever on sale;
the path over-grown by trailing evergreens,
blooming with flowers, appearing pale;
with each step, discovering a new
and greater sense of loss of significance;
yet, knowing something's still kept in reserve,
as faint music sets perceptions to dance;
unaware of inner-mechanisms,
and all the potential complications;
blindly trusting in intestinal fortitude
to continue it's contractions;
fearing the numbing of sensations
that result from any promised exposure;
this journey hints at some period
which leads to some terribly finite rupture.

The idea is suddenly formed upon
seeing the shore as an outer limit;
roaring tide breaking on the rocks,
Time's sounded bell demanding your place along it;
the enormous crashing tells the true risk
of injury or loss, as it's announced;
unceasing inevitable intervals
growing increasingly more pronounced;
with every footfall more undeniable knowledge
of a lesser importance;
Hope conceived beyond any vestige of hope,
seeing more than any merest glance;
with each stride, a larger burden,
acknowledging fated deterioration;
first glimpsing unimaginable depths,
horror's the only worthwhile expression;
more than enough to upset all 
the chemical elements to their very number;
a sudden, surging, inward burning,
accosting mortality's gentle slumber.

Having constantly pushed ever forward
through the blooming purple tangled vines;
finally wading amongst waters
lapping at the obviously defined lines;
only to trip without consolation
into the very depths of the bleakness;
a head-first fall, bleeding away
indications of inescapable weakness;
true epiphany's revealed, though,
only after having been granted so much time;
that existing within any given Era,
Revelation's a wet, chilling climb;
all the inerrant, measured steps, in this,
near-endless calibrated progression;
only to be eventually consumed again
by the encroaching destruction;
greeting the sight of this, the end
of the spiral march with a sensitive caress,
embracing all of Existence,
in order to tread the vast depths of the abyss.

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