Life is a wayfarer.

On some days Life will plod round in the city,

Immersing itself in the quotidian

Feel daft in the company of meaninglessness,

Feculent friendships.  

And I will miss my halcyon days

at the helm of such an existence.

‘This too shall pass’, that’s what they say?

So, life craves for wanderlust (and lust itself, indeed)

Something that infects it with fire from within,

A feeling that sunbeams flow in the lining of the skin;

I crave, I hunger

For the one that will never abandon me on the shore

Of the heart and mind that I grow my roots in

Life will live for this consuming passion,

This tempest that I’ve witnessed will gradually quieten.

Now in this free, really free verse

I shall tell the extraordinary futility of Life.

Memento mori

About why, like Life, I should bother

Betwixt overwhelming agony and spasmodic pleasures;

Crawl over many little deaths:

Life nestles into Death, and cracks it up

Like a butterfly opens its cocoon

Into an afterlife of pulchritude.

Life is just in one long slumber, and Death

Merely a friend who awakens it.