The world is coming to an end and I have not yet lived.
I remain
A cicada safely preserved in ember,
Trapped.
in a cocoon of idleness
and self- preserving wit.
My wings, they wither
against the all encompassing storms
From below, people watch___
wonder how it all plays out_____when it’s
Strength, drawn from my own fragility that
carries me on______
How can I go on when I have seen my own mortality?
Seen how it all
plays out.
When in the end, death
the jealous, spiteful lover
grinds us all to dust?
And there’s a storm before the sea of unconsciousness of days that are yet to come.
Blinded by the great fog and grey skies
Lucy, in the skies with dumb luck, nonchalance
Blinded by her own light? She, who
chokes upon the sea of holy scrolls
as mustard gas sets in.
The world is ending and I have not yet lived
I shall never see the sun rise from the top of Mount Kilimanjaro,
Or the shores on which lies pirate's cove.
And I shall live vivaciously through Rimbaud
And those who follow suit,
The heroes of the weary, the hedonists delight
And I shall remain forever in my isolation
A vagabond, enslaved
beneath the walls and shackles that I alone have built.
ORIGINALLY WRITTEN OCTOBER 30th, 2017 at 4:30 PM, EDITED ON AUGUST 2nd, 2020 at 6:12 PM
