The Masters

We tried covering up.

We tried with colors and flavors;

dyes and scents.

And saying it was okay

and good

the worse that it got.


Our gilded spire soared high to the heavens:

tall and proud,

it grew out of sight,

out of mind,

out of all reasonable hope.

A sight we thought was the right way – 

It must have been –

We were sure.


But like a castle of sand

whose grainy walls are topped

with more sinking silt

that holds no roots,

no grass,

no hopes

or dreams of future greatness –

just blank melancholy

beneath baking suns

and carefree waves

that wash away what memories we make

and leave for the take.


Like great castles of sand,

it keeps slipping;

sliding from its greatest height

where the most hope is placed.

And yet we still try,

covering up doubts

with hope of what’s great.


For now:

Us masters of fate.


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