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Conqueror’s Woe
Colin Boyd

A rain cloud dawdles in heaven above,
Letting loose its lament with a jester reflected
In a pool welling up on a crescent floor
And drowning those souls of the Damned.
Swallow sorrow, spilling out, shortening bound,
A closing gap with no motion at all but
Simply the null and void of zero
Where all are doomed to return to.
And the tears they fall, and hit the ground
And streak across the face of Alexander,
Discourse of Anaxarchus, bare of pleasure,
No joy nor service to bring, no amenity to find
As Sisyphus languishes when he halts.
Of boundless and infinite worlds to find
The bounty of the heavens lurks beyond,
And Alexander’s tears drop all the more,
For not even his own could be conquered

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