The magic that was yesterday 
In eyes no longer glowing,
The selling joy, the buying thrill,
The few left there for knowing

The entropy that we call life,
The past that’s always slipping
Away from our recall, despite
Our grasping and

Our gripping

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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