What can I say about this? Perhaps that I am not in that place myself – just yet. I can well empathise with people who are.
I feel the sorrow of passing time
Now all the wind has blown,
And in its wake are dying leaves
Whirled like flotsam into piles
On rape’d land – devoid of trees;
Now all the clouds have shed
Their tears for sad goodbyes
And bearing skies turn sunless, grey faces
Towards the gathering floods.
All the children have grown and fled;
Love’s passion has been destroyed
By a bat derived spiky Reaper,
Changing masks at will bequeaths
The ability to cease to breathe.
When does this mind quiet itself,
And memories disperse like gaseous steam?
In the wake of momentous spate
Stones clatter and whimper long,
Rattling, clattering, dryly
Over one another’s dressing –
As they return to volcanic ash.
Oh, have not my months been wasted well –
In pursuit of nothing of great worth?
For now, thoughts lay down in DNA
That they may exist in yet another way.
What Dear Lord, my God,
Have I done with your dream?