This...
The shaking of a reed
The movement of the water
The flicking of a flame.

This...
The crying of a child
The weariness of the labourer
The burning skin from the sun.

This...
The racking pain of guilt
The salty tears of loneliness
The swan song of past glories.

This...
The masks of complacency
The contracts of acceptance
The closing of the mind.

This...
The continuing saga
The words that fill the pages
The lot in life we all share.

You look
at me
like
I should
have met
you
yesterday
or
at least
a little bit
earlier
than today,

I stood there
alone,
as I was before you—
and now,
after you.

Of course
Eventually
Everyone gets used to hell
Insufferable torment
Deep in the infernal well
The problem is the timescale
And Satan knows it's true
The ones condemned
The earliest now tolerate it
Eternity through
But he's not worried really
To technology he aspires
What with nano devices
And the promise of AI.

will you be Atlas
and carry it as a curse

wrap it in a blanket
cozy in a purse

would you be
kind and aware
sitting in a chair
guarding it with care

or smack it on the ground
saying you've found

a medicine to the wounds

The right person, the wrong time.
The right script, the wrong line.
The right poem, the wrong rhyme.
And a piece of you that was never mine.