Times There are

Times there are
in dreams and days
when you behold
a busy horde
hastening  away,
hailing men and aims  
wormwood to you
as they dwindle to dim
on distant horizons,
leaving you alone,
stuck in a Dali landscape,
a tattered map in hand,
your compass erratic,
your canteen rattling,
your legs tired and aching,
your heart a leaden lump,
your spirit a limp Dali watch
half sagging off a table.
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