Thursday, 27 May 2021

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


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