Finite, by Shane Thelen

 Fountains lost to ages past,

A wraith in tears stands here, aghast;

Here folds a soul that now is withered,

Haunted, and by memories tethered

To a place once lost, now often guarded

By the traveler who hath started

The rumors now consumed by Man

Who eats as often as he can.

But lo!  Within this fortress guarded

By the traveler who hath started-

Herein lies the jewel of Man:

A glass once filled with precious sand

Of which now little but remains

For the golden yellow grains

Are set to time by God’s own hand

The rising and the fall of Man.

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