Short Contrivances Poems

When this time, foul up and dull, passes away.
When all contrivances light untangle.
When the grave-digger is himself entombed.
	Where’ll your hiding place be?
	Stock your arsenals,
	Store your bullion,
	Mere matters they’ll become.
When the earth’s table turns,
When its element is burnt,
When its clock strikes its last,
	I will quietly lie
	And stir no more.
	Perhaps, we’ll wake
	into a new day....

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The universe is immeasurable,
  we are merely infinitesimal
      machinery keeping pace,
as churning cogs tick wildly 
  transmitting within allotted time, 
attempting heartbeats' cohesion
  clocking our own honed destinations,
accumulating illusions 'tween masses
   waiting to return as a speck of dust
      in the never-ending saga of
           inexhaustible collectives amidst
         systematically creative contrivances...

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