OMEGA
I grow tired.
Time’s elusive treacheries now return
And distill life to such a casual circumstance,
The loose ends of my dreams are solitary and alone,
My empty whims left the fiber insubstantial
And hungry to be spun again.
In a whole there might have been meaning,
Some noble purpose for life’s long endeavor.
I fear to ask myself: “What was the meaning?”
I knew! Or did I know?
My answer comes undone now, haunts me.
I make ready to die,
Too late for such high thoughts.