Sunday, October 11, 2015

Carry On

Angor animi, and I am certain
I am as close to the end of the world
As anyone contemplating rifles
With fixed bayonets charging one's trenches.

Not that I expect I will understand,
Once the actual moment is at hand,
How all momentum shifts in its narrow
Cot like a dreamer, unaware it ends

Continually, meaning it never was,
Not ever, nor anything else, either.
We are never so clever as we thought
We should be when everything never was.

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