In the heart of history

Beating thunderously in the cavern of my soul

The grains of hope slipping through my fingers 

Grasping madly I cry out

From my placid abode my call echos

To the cold the hungry the oppressed the imprisoned

Together we watch the last rays of the sun 

Set beyond the horizon of our futures

Without hope the night continues long

The sunrise seems ever so distant

The stars so cold in the frozen river of their firmament

We below, alone

It was a good run they will say

Those for whom history is read in the papers

With disinterested hurruphs

And wonders of stock changes

For we who turn our faces to the wind

Feeling its chapping gusts on ruddy cheeks

We are not allowed such distances

Languid cetaceans we are not

Dawn will come, and with it the future

The trees roots are too deep to truly parish

But grim tidings come with the night

And we who must live in the dark. 

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