A Personal FailingAnother day, another sun, obliterates itself upon the bluff,
And we proceed toward darkness. Days are so much shorter
Now, and I, inclined toward melancholy, wince to watch
Another death. It colors my mind as I wait impatiently
To read your message. Every hour I can't becomes a wake.
Your love for me has died, and I die deprived of your love.
In time, another morning dawns, another sun, perhaps
The same old one, comes into being in the east. Your
Message also comes, and I who ought to understand
The way the cycle works by now, and find some reassurence
In it, inexplicably do not. I am inclined toward melancholy.
Consequently, I see death. I fail to notice birth.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2018-11-24 at 00:32
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