Negative 7

movingfingermovingfinger Posts: 117
edited December 2005 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Collapse sun.
Sink upon yourself
And spit darkness.

“Do you feel that
tingle in the air?”
“No”
She says,
As the cancer grows
Within her lungs.

How many days
reversed, cut and
edited
shall our demise
be remembered
in the cessation
of our radial
history?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- Omar Khayyam
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