Yes, you legions of lonely hearts, I am poking fun at you.
So stark as it is dull; and this, the poem
Of her leaving, should I try to make
Of it a monument, a Taj Mahal,
To something that had aged and
Weakened, dying finally, in its
Sleep? Should I say I'll cry myself
To raisin dryness in my grief, my
Tears a roaring waterfall? I could.
That's what some poets do, but I'm
Not very sad, it seems. I'm not so
Sorry that she's gone as sorry
That her leaving doesn't matter
Much, to her or me. It's early yet.
The weather's decent. Something
Happened, hence, the poem.
Almost nothing's changed.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2011-10-25 at 12:35
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Love's End Stirs a Great Outpouring of Emotion
She's gone. That's all, a simple factSo stark as it is dull; and this, the poem
Of her leaving, should I try to make
Of it a monument, a Taj Mahal,
To something that had aged and
Weakened, dying finally, in its
Sleep? Should I say I'll cry myself
To raisin dryness in my grief, my
Tears a roaring waterfall? I could.
That's what some poets do, but I'm
Not very sad, it seems. I'm not so
Sorry that she's gone as sorry
That her leaving doesn't matter
Much, to her or me. It's early yet.
The weather's decent. Something
Happened, hence, the poem.
Almost nothing's changed.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 20 times
Written on 2011-10-25 at 12:35
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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