every sincere poem
every expressed opinion
every immediate certianty
every risk that paid off
Was ever too young
for hindsight…
all words
all books
all ideas
all argumentation
all true human brillance
die with aging
diminish
don’t you think?
everything finally
disappoints
by way
of a sigh
of death
of falling alseep
of old age
everything
bored enough for rest
everyone
slightly foolish
in what they have grasped
as though all along
never being entirely responsible
for life, attachement, family
as though they where all
happy accident -as they
undoubtedly are in the
moment of hands up!
as though we where more
of a season
of winter
of moments
yeast merely
legged and armed
bread with conscious eyes…
something that easily dies…
nothing
and not
much
but
enough…