You slingers of paint

and idle poets better 

have some deep pockets. 

Crawl to the finish

line if you must on bloody 

hands and knees 

Like startled gazelles 

at water's edge. the sirens 

sent us scurrying 

Behind the veil of

morality lies a sump

full of bubbling lies 

We were titans turned

wage slaves who clawed our way out

to be born anew 

A lighted window 

beckoning you homeward to 

the life you've made

The wind rustles the

dying leaves and sweeps them down

the path to their end.