Ever new and ever bitter,
Is the cut of mortal acceptance,
live like you were dying (Tim McGraw)
Not only are we  bound to die-
But we are already dead.
The narrowest of edges is our path,
A fate permitting no wavering,
Save the plunge into madness,
That steals consciousness and self-knowledge:
The painful cut of the blade is forgotten,
But not the finality of its end.
Such is the fate of the mind,
That lingers on ends and beginnings,
Never on the eternity in-between.
Let me be an inbetweener,
No longer intoxicated by scent of spring,
Nor the sweet decay of autumn leaves,
But ever basking in the summer sun,
Till winter’s morning steals frozen breath,
From lungs that never knew their end.
We are not living,
We are not dying,
We are living-dying.

4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. eva626
    Apr 15, 2011 @ 03:10:41

    this poem says so much!…its SOOO good!!!


  2. The Hook
    Apr 15, 2011 @ 16:03:08

    Pretty deep! Well done.


  3. mbwilliams
    Apr 15, 2011 @ 17:44:03

    Cheers Hook I do my best!


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