Discourse Of A Lonely Man

Descend from the solitude,

tell us what you’ve learned

under the great star of tireless light.

 

Speak.

 

Your poetry is rendered useless

and all of the ponderous figures you mumble to,

shivering in dark rooms are long since dead.

 

Speak.

 

You are more worm than man.

Helpless, meager beasts

stumbling over your own beliefs.

Wipe the soul clean,

our days are numbered,

count to yourself.

 

Thus spoke.

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#209

I’ll bury this letter in earnest,

in hopes that you’ll read it

and know this,

my words are wrought with anguish.

 

Death is a coward

who cheats at chess.

I found what no one should find.

I can not help but cry.

 

The disconsolate never had the chance.

My little brother

slipped through my fingers.

This grief will span a hundred lifetimes.

 

I will wander,

with a devastated heart and softened eyes,

so clear a path.

I will scatter the last pieces of you

in this mournful world,

until the carriage halts

and the ground swells from us both.

-For Johnny