Incremental

Tables don't suddenly turn. We know.
The world plods on with leaden sameness,
Slowly slaying what we were. We feel
Ourselves falling underfoot, and, crushed,
We cry out, rise, and learn, the tables
Have, in fact, revolved, and we are
Where we wished we weren't: numb
To each other, keen to go, and all that
Keeps us where we've been is leaden
Sameness, tables spread with memories
Of what we were, but, crushed, we find
We cannot be. Is it time for us to say
That “us” is over? I can't say I know.
Tables turning tear us asunder. Surely,
You see it's so.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2011-03-29 at 01:33

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