Ten A.M.

Palms towards soaring orb
Calms untoward foreboding
for those still caught in cage
Taunted, enraged in tautology’s trickiest age
Flick of the page
Fire flickers away
as high as hints of rays of sun
Lay down axe, for handle has won
in ways unseen, unsung
Safe on hillsides

On waves of wonder we slaves will ride
Will bide time on tides
Colliding with those of equal minds
Appalled by the loss, enthralled by the find
Subsequent rise of subservient simians
as the old guard dies, makes way
for emboldened, hardened eyes
come to take back today

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