The Cycle

Failing truth seekers
and sickened wounded healers,
watch booted eagles

gather overhead.
Hag Yntall stirs sub terra
and eagles will leave.

She must do her work.
Rotting flesh and foul work bids
Her from the shadow.

Innocence has blazed.
Her last glare of summer spent,
yields fruit for the rot.

Quantum processes
of ancient alchemy,
split and meld and split.

Without foreboding,
death comes to all who wait.
Witness the absurdity –

Recycle bids resurgence.
It was always thus.


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