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