A Suggestion
I must urge you to try to ascribe some significance to something.
Don't be a dead wire, like me. I see. I hear and smell,
And comprehend, but nothing leaves a mark. The birth
Of a grandchild passes, like evening. A people, the coral,
A seldom-heard language, are stripped from the planet.
I witness and shrug. The women I loved are gone. I don't
Miss them. My vigor, whatever that used to entail, isn't here
Anymore. I don't wish to retrieve it. Each day which comes
Leaves no mark as it's passing, even though I know my cache
Has grown thin. I am here. When I die, no one's going to miss
Me, not for much more than a week, anyway, and I can't say
I care. Caring's not what I do. That's a bad way to live, and it's
Why I'm suggesting you try to find meaning in things.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2024-05-13 at 01:35
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