Prisonner's Dilemma
When man runs out of words
And the wind drives away
All the lonesome and sorrowful birds,
He imagines the day
When to dust he shall turn
And all knowledge of him will then burn.
When the past fills his eyes
And old faces appear
For odd reasons which Reason defies,
He remembers how near
Is the keeper of time,
Whether fate is accursed or sublime.
Then he lingers in thought
Until late in the night,
In the maelstrom of doubt where he’s caught,
And he ventures to write
A terse, cryptic lament,
Though his letter to life can’t be sent.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
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