A life.

A life.

How much for it?

No more than what it is worth,

In time wasted and taken into account,

At a time of reckoning.

When all is said

And the folly of a fair belief

Is deconstructed

And agreed,

What will be recounted by the sages,

Who will by stages,

Build the truth we come to know,

As man’s last days approach,

As well they do.

For time will never stand to watch

As we sail by.

And old days will spring to mind,

When their time,

Was surely run so long ago.

But still they vie

For re-examination.

As questions and decisions,

Left for so long to lie,

Wrapped in bundles,

Covered in the dust

Of ages past,

And stored,

Like the bodies of the dead.

In catacombs,

Ancient halls,

Left to be forgot,

Until days come by,

When questions asked,

Cannot be answered,

Without unearthing

Those old dry bones,

Eaten by time and lost

In the searching.

As all is subverted

By the curse, of what else,

And might have been.

When what was seen

Is abused, by the curse of guilt.

A corrosive exercise,

That eats into new, deepening scars,

And savages

All thought of healing,

While ultimately revealing,

Precisely nothing.