my dead grow larger, as if to punish me for all
I failed to do, what I hadn’t time for, what I
didn’t know I needed — all those halcyon days
when love seemed lined up, ready to be taken
when joy could be enjoyed, then left behind for
the next joy — days of, years of joy with no idea
what dearth lay ahead when age would claim
its due — all you who died before your time
died in passion’s arms — Patroclus, Antigone —
you were not like I am, the living & the dead
No comments:
Post a Comment