Unspeakable Elegy

There is only the unspeakable.

There is only the colour of dust.

The dust of our pasts.

The dust of future ages

- incarnations of anguish?

It matters not.

 

No, I will never deride

My unspeakable desires,

My unspeakable thoughts,

My unspeakable elegies.

- incarnations of the flesh?

 

It matters not.

 

I look at these words

And they burn with hatred.

They are devoid of belief,

Of any shred of humanity

- incarnations in the mind?

 

It matters not.

 

I write an elegy of pain

And it burns with despair.

An elegy for every victim who

Cannot live without pain.

- incarnations of suffering?

 

It matters not.

 

This is the dust of our fevers.

This is a time without embrace.

This is a time without open doors.

This is a time without questions.

 

Flickering light behind glass

Distant clouds of memory…

 

Questions, always questions…

 

They matter not.

Illus: Poetry By Night, 2002