New Poem

Time can change the authenticity of compassion. How difficult it is to watch our serendipity, Pass us by without premeditation. Events alter and mutate perceptions, Even precise twinges of threads unfold. Visions shift and variations that are left unknown, Before reality sets itself into stone. You are you, no more turns, Meanings, stature, all things one. Still exists, but in another life, I find, It is easier to ferment in tune, That to sit and rot in turmoil. Bitter disdain, blankets those crumbling fossils, With a couture hatred and lingering allure.