paying for another life's sins

with broken pride and denied success--

with nothing mattering

because nothing is allowed fruition--

with enemies who hate me on sight

and loved ones who love me but not quite enough--

I finally know why under the rage

simmers a bemused shrug signaling 'figures'

and turn away wearily from the comedy

of my desires--ever hoping where there is none--

at least the violet twilights--the pale olive mists--

the early or late sunlight slanting across the waters

onto the rock-face of ageless cliffs--and the young sweeties

who made my ten-year-old heart pound with fear

and yearning before we all learned how doomed we really are--

the reason itself for our flowing blood in these

ridiculous bodies designed for the sojourn's trial--

whatever desires and delusions of desire made life seem alive--

oh sitting watching yet another vivid sunset--(how many

before the last one of this life?)--I am grateful that oh

at least these things cannot be taken away from me...

Content (c) 2008-2009 Philip Milito.