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Poetry
Page of Life
By Katanga
25 September 2008

Ha!

The title? I feel a slave to Life, but at the same time a 'reader' of it. Quirky, I know . . . . 

Please forgive the gloom and doom - try living amongst rubble, both literally and figuratively . . .  Strange results!

The end? Pretentious? Moi?


Couldn't find any better rhymes!

Cheers!

John X




Page of Life

I turn a page of 'Life' to read the end
of all the loving in my burnt-out heart.
Now there's a tear my dreams can no more mend
than take me home to our once happy start.

How long have we two been so far apart?
Such distance stretches out, and so I tend
to turn to poetry's solace, soul-crafted art.
I turn a page of 'Life' to read the end.

This poem hangs, and I can't comprehend . . .
The song I sing tastes wrong, distinctly tart.
My tune is written now, a futile blend
of all the loving in my burnt-out heart.

There's paper on the table - a pen, a dart
that pierces all I feel. I won't pretend
to know what's quietly driven you to part.
Now there's a tear my dreams can no more mend.

Is this a message you were loath to send
before your heart gave up pretence, so smart?
I'd rather you forgive me now and spend,
than take me home to our once happy start.

I linger long before I scream, 'Depart!'
My soul is crushed, this poem cannot rend
a better life than proven by Descartes -
'I think, therefore I am.' Did he 'intend'?
                                              I turn a page.



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