Shifting visions of future movements
Where time will take hold
Like a tumor to your throat,
Feeding it's growth
To end the unknown.
Hypothetical breasts in your hands
Or maybe another man's
Straying from the lines.
Good and terrible gods
Will still give you time
To bring his grandsons
To his bones that feed the tree
On the hill beside the lake.
So far from kindred soil,
We may as well be descended
From worms; a need to resurface
Was never so plain.
Hard times come
With the blood in your veins.
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