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Time. (A Preview)

The harshest mistress closes her hand

Upon the waiting wrist

The aching world so powerless stand

To shake her fearsome grip

She does not stir for cries of fear

Nor pause her steady gait

For those who wail and she their tears

Know naught can alter fate

Sovereign matron, healer old

That bested every wound

The hand that pulled us from the cold

And plucked us from the womb

The guard who keeps the rearward front

And marshals forward still

From richest man to poorest runt

The maid of iron will

Press, oh press, and press in kind

Your ruler most sublime

For not one man has yet to find

The means to best her: Time.

As stated in the title, this is a preview of an upcoming poetry collection that I am working on. For updates regarding that poetry collection, please follow me here via the email list, or on my twitter.

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