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The Cycle begins at the rise of sun,
ending during the descent of the moon.

The dragon that consumes its barbed tail,
the sands of time, and wheel forever turning.

Unconscious is the flow, ascension.
Mindless is the resistance to the wheel.
But in vain, your useless endeavor ends.

It is the sand that slips through your fingers.
Nothing lies behind, but these pale memories.

What exactly is the meaning of this?
You have made life a thief and murderer.
You let the weak be denied and fall behind.

A Question buried in the cold sands
and a thousand Answers we left below.
My first attempt at a poem using the Iambic Pentameter. I think there may be a line or two, not fitted perfectly in the Pentameter, but I'm fine with that.
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Submitted on
August 28, 2011
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