Dust To Dust

Everything dies, baby, that's a fact, the Jersey poet promised

Cyclical narratives tumble like blue-jean laundry, time disguises itself in

Linear fashion, while days masquerade as night and Jokers paint themselves Kings

In the sun's harsh light, or while she changes costume behind the clouds

Past turns to future and unwraps itself to present again, ancient acts play out under the celestial spotlight 'til she swallows us all and the audience is no more

So when your luck spring runs dry, and the dark days come, look up to the sky and remember:

Everything that dies someday comes back.