it calls me on


it calls me mad

in swift passing

gives me pleasure

yet sad

more sad

than missing

the little things

that to others

bring happy tears

are the many

misspent years


while striving 

to be remembered


altogether too much

such is time

and time is such

a bitter — yet

in the living of it

sweet — pill

swallowed up whole

in guilt

and mad raving


that i cry

no not i





© 1983




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Filed under Arts, Conflict, Life, Words


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