Elegy for an Immoral Man
Life - that other word
I know; it is but
A little prelude,
A dream,
An only truth, among many others,
And, like them, it has been lost;
The future holds a million thoughts
I have no reason to believe,
The past, too, that unknown, that fall from grace,
The room, the great star, the hollow feeling of eternity,
The hollows…
I am the master of nothing,
Nor a master,
I have been hollow,
Or a plain man,
A virtuous man of iron,
I am in chains,
In no meaningful relation to my eyes,
Or with meaning,
I have spelt this word with no alphabet,
Nor used paint on stone, wood or etching,
I have been amused at the horrors of life,
And the brave and the minor and the moon and the stars,
I have no reason to believe or deny any word written, spoken,
Or those that are unspoken,
While I believe in nothing,
I still consider myself, above all…
A hope, nothing more,
For a strange work to be written,
With this I depart. I have spoken.
Once again, it was silent.
