We reap our weary sowings
one by one we walk with tired lowings
Down and on and through and far
we hold our shining scimitars
and swing our songs to thin night air
-despair.

There are musings in the depths of knowing hearts
and words and lyres that sound with ample tune
and firelights we end by, never start
our blazing epitaph we plod by moon.

Deep and clear like thrushcalls blaring
a delicate sweetness beyond comparing
we bid this adieu, yet pray never part
A lonely remembrance
a trying black art.

In this, and once, and never and near
I hold to this bosom your pain like an ear
to heed this old beating, to beat this old drum
for the grandiose things that are never to come.


To this, and to this only, I can grieve.
Daft jackal's words run through me like a sieve
and I am parted.

One cannot mourn the journey never started.

10/25/2005

Posted on 10/25/2005
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia