Sitting still
In the eloquence of silence
I’m thinking deep
About ending things
To be spared of oblivion
And the privilege of hope
The vain urge to be loved
And the placid sadness
Beneath the moon of
Many tender evenings
To be unoccupied
By promises of books
When today is yesterday
And tomorrow is too late
We can only give
What is already the other’s
What more do you want?
I am not even dust.
I am thinking deep
About ending things
What joy to be invulnerably alive
A mortal body of sad flesh
Languid and lethargic
Travelling into time
Only to be forgotten
And,
To be left behind.
