The clock is chiming in our wombs
Ready for a new world to be born
Time never outlasts our heroism
If only we realized the end could be near
It’s austere to love this world and her music
Too much, I think sometimes I do
Farewell to another lonely year
How had you loved? Who cares what you did!
Time is running with new longings
I feel them in you, in kind
Distance from afar, spooky action noted
Love’s feature-bliss has no casual witnesses
It’s something white hot inside of us
It’s the need to create more than
Software, more than poems
More than playing in the dark
The clock is running out of hands
And my intent is running out of eyes
I don’t have the eyes in this world
To see all the beauty, and participate
Sometimes in a revolution, when the
Activists have all died, what shall we do?
When there’s nobody to read the books we write
No word about love, in such a brutal world
No men to embrace, no women to educate us!
And this moonlight looks for the end of all adoring
But I cannot help myself, I’m foolish in all things
The clock keeps me grounded in absurdity
Never a nihilist, I laugh shyly into the wild
I’m always the honored guest at the feasts
Of the imagination, where I roam freely
But, the partners are sourly missing
I’m holding my own hand in this anonymous playground
Committing blunders for my scanty hope
So long I’d live and work alone
That I might forget all heart and mercy
Or suffer time’s designs with stronger plans.
This is the saddest poem I have ever read from you. I felt it sharp in my heart. So beautiful and so much to think on. Happy New Year to you and please keep hope. Always. My playground seems empty too. I love this a million times infinity.
So glad it touched you Emily. The basic need to connect is missing in the lives of a lot of folk even with all this fancy web and digital stuff.