The Process
Time
On its conveyor belt
Moves me
Past the cherished things of life
That waits
Other spectators on this path
To yawn
And crumple with their desire
And then
To come behind my voyage
Conquered
By what we thought we would
Conquer
Until age halts us, and the belt
Waits
For death to board and select
Those
Shrinking from the gate.
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