IN THE FINAL WINTER

These latter, bleak

days fall

like crumpled leaves

from the young oak on

the front yard of

my old, true home

fell on the late snows

of winters past,

dead and dry and

on touch falling

into pieces. Thus

the aged branches

of personal time

become bare,

never to carry

buds again.

11.12.2019

LOST

TO P. R. C.

A dim October dusk, sipping

coffee from a thermos I walk

through the bleak

evening weaving night.

Liquid warmth to burn

a freezing flesh and chilled mind

forlornly thinking of you,

flown faraway and lost.

I have the falling dark,

I have the emptiness

left by your leaving,

torn fabric of the world

flapping in the breeze.

I have bitter coffee burning

in my mouth, something

to numb the thoughts

against the falling leaves and snow.

07.10.-10.12.2019

ON THE BRINK

The darkness falls, finally,

the blessed lack of light;

the pale, gray winter light

that still evokes all that is lost;

the darkness more gently

hides that what was

and the ruins of lives remaining

on the brink of the devouring abyss.

10.12.2019

When you have died

you have never lived.

You are not dead,

you never existed.

09.12.2019

You are gone.

You are all gone.

What

am I doing here?

What

am I doing here,

alone?

You are gone,

you are all gone.

Why

am I here?

Why

am I here, still?

Because of sins

and guilt.

Because sins

and guilt

must be

paid for.

09.12.2019

SPLEEN

Gray light and silence

behind the window

where December lives

in absence of movement

and sound. An

impressionist painting

on glass, muted. Let

us forget this hole

in our cage, the

illusion of a world

it offers in three colours.

This is all there is,

these dusty rooms

where the electric light

hurts tired eyes.

09.12.2019

THE BLACK HOLE

Death is what happens

when the world ends.

The core of existence

collapsing into singularity.

No thought shall escape

the event horizon of being.

No white hole shall

provide escape.

09.12.2019

LIVE

Life is what is,

nothing much

but it is.

Death is what

is not anything,

it is nothing.

Live, for something,

these morsel days of ours,

are more than nothing.

In the end,

the end that is everything,

we will be nothing.

07.12.2019

GRAVES OF FLESH AND THOUGHT

We are the grave

of time,

each day buried

in our depth

for life

to move past its losses.

We are tombs

made of flesh and thought;

days and years and decades

hiding in us,

and the people forever

lost in that past in us.

07.12.2019

IN THE DIM GRAY LIGHT OF THE DAY

Another day

of dim gray light,

few hours
spent traversing the waste

between the going

and coming

of the darkness

of the winter night,

between the gray-white

overcast sky

and the white-brown earth.

Worse these hours

than the utter black

of the long starless night,

these cursed hours

gray, white and brown

full of bitter memories

of loss and knowledge

of where the fault lies;

the long night

in its abyssal depths

better hides the truths

the pale, brief day

dredges to its feeble light.

07.12.2019

AFTER THE LIGHT HAS GONE

It becomes easier when the light

has faded

and darkness falls.

It is easier,

in the dark,

to live.

Yet the knowledge, the memories,

they stay there,

in the mind -

always present.

Not shouting, yet

talking, whispering, crying.

In voices lost,

in voices lost

because you were not

worthy of them

that depended

on you.

They who made

their leap of faith,

those who expected,

those who deserved

after decades

of sacrificial love

a modicum of what they gave

to you, year
after year after year,

to you who failed,

who failed them all.

And your own voice

among the others,

self-pitying, crying,

pleading, pathetically.

No longer screaming,

but whispering, the weakling,

in the dark in which

you hide from the pale light,

pale and feeble light

like the blood in your veins,

like the brittle moral spine

long ago broken,

you, long ago broken,

hiding in the dark

from them who
you betrayed.

06.12.2019

NOTHING

Nothing is eternal

except

oblivion.

05.12.2019

ALL THIS

All this

is just a prelude

to the void.

Galaxies, stars

and you, a firefly

in the cosmic night.

All this

is just a prelude

to the void.

05.12.2019

THE VOTERS OF HATE

Those who now embrace fascist racists

are not ignorant, they are not

mislead innocents:

They are as guilty as those

who will with their votes

doom us all.

They embrace hate,

they embrace denial,

they want us all embrace oblivion.

Curse them, these

people who dance with the devil

and their coming excuses

how they supposedly didn't know,

when we all, we all

know what the sons and daughters of Adolf sell.

They shall not be forgiven,

they deserve no pity,

for they are with open eyes destroying us all.

05.12.2019

THE MIRAGE

It's the mirage of

from which you

seek comfort:

That what you create,

in thought, steel and flesh

will survive your end.

It is a mirage

that you embrace

in your desperation;

you know,

you know very well

that nothing,

nothing you have done

and placed in the

quicksand of existence

will survive

your death.

05.12.2019

ALPHA AND OMEGA

The days that we gain strength

from, the long days beyond

our consciousness' reach,

when we are not and the world remains -

do they really exist?

Is the hope that we can't share

hope at all, are the days

we can't live days that really are?

Island universes of thought,

bound in mortal flesh inside caves of bone,

what hope to us if what we distort

in our mind lives beyond its annihilation?

02.12.2019