Of All Possible Worlds

We'll go quietly. We are not what we were.
The world's changed. The house, my god,
Is full of things. How much we own, and,
Sated, sorrowful, we'd rather simply give
Up a little than risk a lot. We are managers
Now. Everyone is. Nothing is made.
Nothing is done, but all that is is overseen.
With the rules plain, the future blank,
We will manage. Then, quietly, we will go.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2011-05-30 at 15:00

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