Saturday, December 10, 2011
The years run by
The years run by, and by, and always by:
now all my time’s an endless searching dream;
and like a nightmare searching dream―where I
will search, and hope, and follow any gleam,
yet never find the something that I seek,
nor comprehend the reason for my quest ―
my hopes are few, my outlook black and bleak,
for nowhere find I solace, peace, or rest.
Each thing I touch does spill, or die, or break;
my work unravels; voice and words decay;
my heart is naught but one perpetual ache
as each one takes, then turns his face away.
And yet the days and years run by, and by;
Time is twisted, and all is gone awry.
© 2011 Quodlibet. Dissemination, re-use, or duplication prohibited except by express permission of the author.I pay attention and I will find you if you cite, republish, or use my work without credit or without attribution.