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Ephemeral
to be ourselves or not to be at all
is this perhaps the question
we should be considering
bound as we are by silken threads
to this existence, blinded by its flame
reflecting web that trembles in the rising sun
think upon it, all eyes caught in this sticky world
each at the center of his own perception
burning our small lives away in candle years
while we watch the minutes pass in time’s deceit
this crouching monster beaked upon eight hairy legs
masticates our being in incremental bites
‘till we are part of him—all that remains
of wick and wax—flicker, smoke, odor, a stain
© Johnmichael Simon
2009
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