(no subject)
It is 3.10am and this time tomorrow shall be a new year
I am sick I lack something profound
I can't plant hyacinths in the ground
As a life for a lost love
Or throw discs at anyone I'd feel loss for.
My ex wins £20,000 on a TV gameshow and the flicker of the scene becomes obscene
If I can attach nothing of myself to reality
Is there still a world that is real?
Amidst the peopled scene
People achieve un-human feats
I have never loved and lost
As Clymenestra loves and looses only do I live
Those that I love spill blood on the plains of Troy
I re-marry; I do not tend to this garden.
Tomorrow would be no different were I to plant the seeds and sow a new love.
A clock sees no cause to speed or slow with the rhythm of affections so.