By J. Lynne Moore
Through the limpid, prison glass,
Fall the sands of heedless time.
Never making resplendent sense,
Always ending in a twisted rhyme.
No need to hold your last breath,
Overmarrow cannot be seen,
Cry no more for spilled milk regret,
During the lost affairs of yestereen.
No tepid, vanilla life prospers.
Zeal, adopt it as your first name,
Let choice purchase your victory,
Shatter the hourglass, be never tame.
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