Tony Xavier

Now, after thirty years of sand has fallen,
Blood flowing at a more even chime,
He sees that the shore of death moves
Neither nearer nor farther with time.
Only a mysterious forgetfulness blurs
This lonely outpost of our fate,
Obscuring the dubiousness of our days:
Rarely being, forever becoming.
The mirror of oblivion, silent as stone,
Reveals that he was neither the child
Fallen from eternity’s womb, nor the man
Buried in time’s coffin, but that which contains
The world and the sun as they rise and fall;
Immortal, indifferent.