FLEETING
Hearken to stirrings,
Murmuring so deep
In the seat of all yearning
And worries and dreams
Sleep: It clings
To transient things
That are invisible, or fantasy, or
What!
This, then, must be a slumbering trance
Slapdash crawl—befuddled—like ants
Prickling into skin, blanketing delicate
Fly-by-night feeble infinity
For am I not made of mortal stuff,
All the brevity, glint, and shades?
I stir myself faithfully for the waking of day
Anticipate that last passing deed I’ll do
Before all that is solid… fades.
Night sows stars into its flesh
And we drink their light
To feed our light
As darkness swallows the moon
Addendum:
This poem attempts to capture the feeling behind that universal struggle to come to terms with our impermanence.
Hearken to stirrings,
Murmuring so deep
In the seat of all yearning
And worries and dreams
Sleep: It clings
To transient things
That are invisible, or fantasy, or
What!
This, then, must be a slumbering trance
Slapdash crawl—befuddled—like ants
Prickling into skin, blanketing delicate
Fly-by-night feeble infinity
For am I not made of mortal stuff,
All the brevity, glint, and shades?
I stir myself faithfully for the waking of day
Anticipate that last passing deed I’ll do
Before all that is solid… fades.
Night sows stars into its flesh
And we drink their light
To feed our light
As darkness swallows the moon
Addendum:
This poem attempts to capture the feeling behind that universal struggle to come to terms with our impermanence.