The ancient architect weaves a ballot box
How many ways are there to die?
To him, it is an art
To design myriad ways to reap us,
Piece after piece
One by one with his scythe
Water, land air, fire
He wields to our disadvantage
From the elements we are made alive
Still, they stand as the source of our undoing
The path of return to the source


©️ Yefon Isabelle 2017