Forgive me,
the feast I promised
is dead
the rivers of my lands are dry
no poetry will flow from these lips
parched are the eyes
as they stand at my doorstep
beseeching hope
while all I can offer is
some of the things which I no longer have use for
I care for you not my traveler friends
I shut down my tavern
That night the village pulled it down
built a temple
or a mosque
I cannot be bothered which
No one drinks of wine anymore
I will not bother you
and you will not follow me
or ask me why
A mans life must be measured
only on his passing
Consider me dead
don’t hold me a wake
judge my deeds
find me guilty and exile me
let the memory be a grain of sand
in the eyes of the travelers
who came so far
to curse me at my grave
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit 
October 13, 2008 at 8:36 am |
Too much eet ees as always Boy 😀
October 13, 2008 at 8:42 am |
Oh wow, first Happiness 2.0 and now this- some fabulous poetry!
“no poetry will flow from these lips”- this line just does it for me. reminds me just a little, of the song American Pie
October 13, 2008 at 11:54 am |
very very beautiful.i do not know if i should congratulate you on the creation of such desolately beautiful imagery or not…but the hours blogtrawling reading hundreds of pages of junk is made worth it by lines like these.thank you for writing
October 13, 2008 at 1:30 pm |
[…] Absenthe « omnia mutantur, nihil interit A mans life must be measured only on his passing Consider me dead don’t hold me a wake judge my deeds find me guilty and exile me let the memory be a grain of sand in the eyes of the travelers who came so far to curse me at my grave (tags: poetry poem absence) […]