A tide of dew creeps over Day
                and soaks the morning’s sand.
The seconds, Lethe’s trickles gray,
                absorb the toils of man.
And soon the blazing chariot
                of Leto’s son displays,
The power of the Heaven’s brat.
                (Niobe mourns her graves.)
Of Dawn and Vesper’s shifting bounds
                the plots are one, made two,
Like sea and land, the struggle’s grounds
                are fences of construe.
Awake, asleep, in bliss, in grief,
                the hours are unfair hosts.
(Isosceles of Greek belief
                has Scalene’s humble toasts.)
Yet Scalene’s perfect crookedness
                is balanced at one point.
And cypress-tapered stateliness
                is random at close sight.

For time like space is average-based
                where length can balance parts.
So, truth and lie are both well-graced
                with one another’s hearts.
Reality and dreams compete
                exaggerating strife
To fashion Beauty so to greet
                the symmetry of life.

-Tsai