Friday, February 28, 2014

Another Ode to Lethe

The death of literature - ah -
what never was life - oh -
hold the warm beads by the fire -
feed your heart now something more.

All things must live -
passing cannot change that -
the list of things to forget
grows larger every day.

It seems so easy to release one's grip -
until the will fails -
and decay alone opens the hand
to let nothing fly out like a bud.

The councils that watch this - with pillars and eyes -
are no more real than we are,
trying to live in homes we've built
- we pilgrims never lost.

1 comment:

Jack said...

How true, and strange to think about, that we can will a grip to open but might require decay to finally let go.

I also like the distinction that decay, not death, is what opens the hand, as rigor mortis would illustrate "taking something to one's grave."