No more songs;
I wish to sleep,
And lay my head
On silence’s bosom;
Dream of tomorrow,
Though it’ll ne’er come.
For ‘now’ is ever
And forever,
The only moment
We may indulge;
Future’s silent -
An empty tomb
And past is ashes -
A dead word.
Why, then,
Do I weep
The nights away
In prayer,
As the spectre of Future awaits,
And the wraith of Past stalks me?
No more songs;
It pains me to remember
What has yet to come;
Though it will pass,
As all things come to;
Still, I dread the moment,
That I know will hurt.
I don’t want to hurt.