To envy the past for what it is,
For better nor for worse than is,
The wind that blows slowly passes,
A subtle movement once it stirs, gone,
The buildings stood thus again stood,
The cars that drive shall drive again,
Another day that passes, another sun,
Nor night that covers the eyes soon,
The trees that glide through time,
The clock that still is whole but ticks,
With every tick a drop of rain utters,
With every drop of rain the waves crash,
Through every crash a single moment lost,
After all the moments were lost calm restored,
Angst that silently weeps is sought more,
Lonely stead, an abandoned site, more sought,
The riders that part from here depart,
The next road they take, through dark ere gone,
But where and so they have finally left,
Until all the world surrounds in the black,
Looks up from below to a night sky in woe,
The sight that sows his eyes to glare,
So vast is the depth too deep to dwell,
How much more his eyes fair ere they swell,
From above the stars a single blue dot found,
From above no human seen to walk but Earth,
Our single planet lost in the great expanse,
All the countries then appear as one,
All seas appear as a mere illusion of blue,
That when one passes through this sight,
They truly do wonder what came to be.

Mysterious, Poetry, Works
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