Remembrance

‘Neath the warm breath of our remembrance
of all things worth and all things worthless,
tis receeding, the shore of thoughtful semblance
and standing in its wake, art mounds dauntless;
of sand, of salt, of time and young promises,
A wasteland tis, the dusty bed of such oceans
neath this breath hot, tired and yet ominous
too many hath lost their tide in its motions.’