Frayed edges and wisps of cloth hang along the line,
and throughout the passage of time,
it has become
bleached by the sun, the wind, the rain, and weathered by rough hands.
color has faded, but where has it gone?
It wanders about in a realm removed from further disinterest and disrespect;
for it has gone to make moods for the people that used to wear
the most conspicuous manifestation of what they could not approach.
It is a realm where time does not pass,
and there is nowhere left to go.
Behind your eyes is the prize which is denied by the hand of man...
And the hands of all men
are so very rough.
- rajajuju
