Go my lost songs of failure
The stars are bitter with a billion lives
They experience the lights as I do
More free than water, more alive than
Summer, or the organics that celebrated there
Go, my songs, that were never mine
We briefly hold on to life
Though lonely or unsatisfied
It does not matter – we are just
Visitors filled with the contempt
Of an imperfect journey
Wedded to ignorance and desire
Though I bend with night and rise
With the dawn in my mind
My heart coloured thirst born of this
There’s gentle music here, and open speech
In the cadence of all I see
But inside of me there is oppressed counterpoint
Go my songs, lost as I would end my search
In the silence of the subtle chords
Which is the fading light, and the years spoiled
Hungry for the return of octaves lost
And for the sport of voice and omens and lyrics
In the timeless commerce of beauty’s quivering vein.
Wuji Seshat 