Pulses in The Downstream

Pulses in the downstream,
From all the old days gone;
Complicated undisciplined seem,
In and out the autobahn.
Withered leaves of yesterday,
Whistling in the breeze;
With shades of a morning gray,
Around the barren trees.

Soon will come the morning,
With dawn on someone's street;
Desire and all its yearning,
Making thoughts so bittersweet.
Tonight's life though must go on,
Before another day begins;
What has past - is a cabochon,
For the worries and chagrins.

Pulses in submission,
By a world that can not hope;
For the day's of superstition,
Purgatorial fires and zootrope.
Making for this onward night,
Dreams between or under sleep;
Lost moments in their flight,
Not the seeds of ours to keep.