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Image by Tim Foster

The Gods are not Merciful

Life is a flower that blooms,
then dies when we sleep.
I watch the moving moon,
dominate the sky.
Where does God reside?
People move along the road.
They know nothing
of me, and I know nothing
of them. Stars die slowly,
even more slowly
than the deeds of men.
I sink into sleep.
I waken to the day.
I have no courage.
When she was young,
And I was young,
We slept in each other’s arms.
I’m older now and she is
far away. The light dies.
This poem is all wrong,
but I have nothing left to say.

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