THE HEADSTONE

 A brief moment of sunlight
on this day of endings;
when your name is on a stone
above where you are laying,
something has come to an end -
a curtain has fallen, yet
only for the half-time
in this mixed tragedy and
farce. You the tragic victim,

betrayed by one you

trusted and loved,

I the farcical villain,
who bumbling destroys lives,
ends lives - the very lives
he professes, even
to himself, cherish most.

Then, occasional rain
with memories and guilt -
but guilt has never revived
a human being lost, and

in memories you return
only as puppets sculpted
by our subconscious;
the same subconscious
which seeks to absolve
and condemn, and
can not end this fatal farce
or avert yet another
prophesied tragedy - only
my own death can, when

the clown exits the stage,

and leaves behind mere

names on stones.

25.10.2020