recycled ideas
a single simple thought
stroking the crisp edge of a yellowing autumn leaf,
meanders, to-and-fro, down to the musty earth.
it glides over the dusty chasms of history, softly,
up the desert-brushed lands of the thirty-years war,
to laze in the lapping tides of the Ganges, silently.
a thought, a spectator of youth and age, trial and error, dismissed
in a dainty rush of exhaled breath; a sigh
fleeing from the lips of an exhausted philosopher
to turn in its grave a hundred years hence.
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