We cross it together. Once over, we part,

They to the ether, they to the mist,

Shadows departing, lifetimes undone,

And we to a hardscrabble road.

When going or gone we are never alone,

The child – abandoned – the last lover’s tears.

If many or few there are those who remain,

Even those who will carve deep the pauper’s cold bed.

The florist, the priest, the ones who don’t know,

The shadows, the darkness, the lyrics untold.

Gangly, stumbling, staggering words,

And we to a hardscrabble road.

One sings Hallelujah! One says God is dead.

The leaving, the left, the ones who can’t know.

Hollow flames guttering, quick now grown cold,

And we to a hardscrabble road.

Categories: Poems


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