Mystery

Here is the very green cut.

And the sap shows itself as a running

Clear juice in the vial of time.

On a gradient of eternal length,

Is balancing a Proton awaiting the descent.

A crib and a grail are the story

A mystery.

No matter.

Here is a servant dead,

The very force of life

Deadened and hidden.

Crushed under the weight of knowledge,

A childish crush, an evil.

And an old man held to account

By history and reflection.

I belong to the unsaughtafter

Those deemed forgetable.

Copyright 2020 Christoher Thompson all rights reserved.

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