A Poem

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The Shrouded Lady

Perplexing Positions.
Pointing,
Paralleling,
Procreating Passivity,
And the will to Nowhere.

Falling further.
Fast and freely.
Furiously festering.
Mired in indecision.

The shrouded lady winked at me
And I knew it was all over.

We are born to die and kill
In the name of life eternal.
But when the clock ticks silence,
and counts off a standstill,
Eternity is reduced to a heartbeat,
And one tick takes ten thousand years.