The Delicate and the Dead

This delicate hangs in morning light,

suspended in some spider’s spun delight,

a wispy statement of fragile beauty,

from some web-based arachnid cutie.


This dead was laid upon a lava shore,

upended by the ocean’s roar;

’twas sturdy structure, now skeletal wood,

struck down by nature because it could.


The delicate and the dead are opposites in nature,

like Libs and Cons in a legislature.

If men could do anything and make it last,

some other men would squelch it fast.

That’s just the way it is in this world,

like a flag that’s furled and then unfurled.

It’s just a worldly fact: and then it goes back,

and then it goes back.


King of Soul


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