Aubade // Philip Larkin

[lungsandsyrup]

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and

Comments

[iatrogenicmyth]

has been a long-time favorite of mine. thanks :)