Have we eclipsed towards a fate,
Propelling us, compelling us,
Traversing the meridian,
Of a hostile idiom?
Can we ignore this misguided direction,
Or are we too late?
Do we have the ability,
To rendezvous with flawless gentility?
Can we meet again,
On a distant and more harmonious plain?
Acknowledging our refugee past,
Shall a crucial essence be fulfilled at last?
Are we too late?
Can we ascribe refinement,
As a noble consignment,
Rather than gilded defilement?
We turn a corner, looking,
To another place, another rendezvous,
Perhaps something elegant again,
Sometimes so hidden,
It is now almost new,
Pray we are not too late,
The answers, my friend,
Are for questions that never end.

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