Bereft of this Life


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Bereft of this Life

There is a slant of fate that is cruel
How unbearable the dull numbness
In comparison to the sharp and known

Somehow the lateral events
Does not appease a soul
Connected to the vertical order of the now

Death follows me like a source of solutions
To the inevitable need to
Remember privately, what is important
There is no convenient resolution

To this problem, I am afraid
We are not meant to succeed
In a material world that craves

Always more, profit, fuel, addiction
We consume and they learn to prey
Upon our talents for consumption

If I conduct seppuku (taking my life for honour)
Don’t forgive me, realize
That I wasn’t an ironic spirit
I was too serious and bereft of this life.

Impossible


I can’t carry the grand piano
Downstairs without a partner
I can’t do it, I won’t, do it
I want to be boundlessly rich
In spirit, with a partner
My best friend, who can draw
Out a smile, even a half-smile
And in company revelling
A half-night expand
To a year full of good nights
And no goodbyes, give me
Fifteen rubies for all the times
I will be able to say ‘I love you’
I want the impossible
I want a bride like Clara
A questioner like Jackie
I can’t carry the past alone
I wasn’t built for staying up late.

Plato Does not Speak of This


55

I have learned to despise in myself
What those I loved left me for –
They are not here with me now, I must deal
With the sun and moon for my pillows

The grief of lonely years, the dust of doorways
And years of half-grain and empty homes
Cold rooms, half chaff, no jewels
I have learned to accept in myself

What those I once sought, did not value
For only I must truly, live with myself
The others, they do not sweeten this bitter sea
They give and retreat, without loyalty

As a thorn opens into a rose, my throat and lungs
Beg the light for an execution place
Where I will wail and be thirsty for my own blood
Purified, as the Nile once flowed beside my limbs

I was never a warrior, but a humble worshiper
My dead eyes did look into your living eyes
and I cried, for love’s work looks absurd at times.