Monday, October 12, 2009

A no man's land to call one's own

It lays spread before me
Merlot blanket of time and tide
This glossy breadth of upheavals
That, in due course, would subside

Some day this will be paradise
The home about which I’d lied
But this eternity, it’s a wasteland
Where hopes and tears collide

1 comment:

Jay Shanker said...

That is entropy at work. Order is a transient state.