Here are the signs of a dying age,
the clock chiming down to the last stage;
here are the grounds for the stupid rage,
ingeniously crafted on the crimson page!
Too very brainy, too very sharp.
Too many people played the same harp.
And, in the consequent conclusive din,
they hoped to obscure all their sin!
Concealing awareness from light,
trying to escape from its plight;
simply forgetting what is right,
they were all ready for the flight!
Decapitated, they walked the land,
with the severed bit in their hand;
in the other fist, a brush of logic.
That, they thought, would work the trick!
Well, they tried, but little did they know
that awareness could hide but only in Shadow.
And that once mature, an icy hand it would sway,
that none, not any one, could ever wish away!
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