One more tiny dot,
turned into a watery stack of light in the reading.
One more little lamp,
turns my entire life into sorrow.
Every lantern I pass whispers to me
to go to eternal rest.
Every figure reminds me
of the beginning of my own passing,
and I cannot wait for the end,
and the end may be so near.
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 3:31 PM UTC
One more tiny dot,
turned into a watery stack of light in the reading.
One more little lamp,
turns my entire life into sorrow.
Every lantern I pass whispers to me
to go to eternal rest.
Every figure reminds me
of the beginning of my own passing,
and I cannot wait for the end,
and the end may be so near.
Reflective and somber, with a gentle melancholic undercurrent. The language evokes a sense of constructive melancholy rather than outright anguish.
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