Life, the great disappointment,
ebbs away. Yet, as its high tide
was of no note,
less so is its passing.
One doesn't mourn
such paltry things,
promises unfulfilled,
flotsam carried into the deep,
another tide
will rise on other shores
and go where the waters go
as the Moon commands,
one turns away from such things,
the realms one will not tread,
to her beguiling images,
to the siren call
that gets
out of the mind and flesh
what they have still to give
and which no else
shall feel or give.
10.01.2026
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