A Human Life

A ship that throbs along in dire distress
Till lost in oceans of forgetfulness.
A tangle of sweet flowers whose petals turn
To ash of unfulfillment in an urn.

A wisp of tangled threads, whose parted ends
No deft hand joins, no endless effort mends.
A play whose fickle players merely greet
And go and leave the story incomplete.

A bud that opens brilliant at the dawn,
Flings sweet perfume a moment and is gone.
A breath between a cradle and a bier,
The blending of a smile, a sob, a tear.

A book whose pages turn with each new day,
Till Time has read the tale and cast away.
A mask worn till a passing play is done,
To cloak a wraith and hide a skeleton.

A lie, whose ghostly semblance is concealed
Till in a shroud its untruth lies revealed.
A thing that shapes the sod for a brief day
And dies and leaves its faithful slave more clay.

A story that is told ere 'tis begun,
A song that only whispers and is done;
A thing that chains the lightnings and that stirs
The deep — the elements its messengers.

Lord of the sea and sky, a ruler proud
That quakes at storms and trembles at a cloud;
That comes and goes on wings unseen — a germ
That grows to fill a grave and feed a worm.
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