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By jwb71913 Date: 2003 Nov 18 Comment on this Work [[2003.11.18.17.10.26994]] |
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Nothing left after the pain goes No relief, no closure, no anger Just lack of pain, an empty place From which my muse would spring The sheer empty gray banality of life In all its dull flat glory, speaks more Than all the volumes of angry drivel Than all the songs of love ever sung As autumn stirs the flights of migration I wait, not for your return flight But rather for the final confirmation That your migration has changed course at last With the approach of winters dark, I Carefully dust off and repair the Holes in the wool of my mind and heart Preparing for hibernia's repose I make ready the cave for one With extra layers to compensate For I no longer warm you As I have in winters past When the cave is closed, with You safe and warm inside I will turn out the light And wait no more, and feel nothing |