I have lost everyone and everything.
Every precious thing — every meaning one.
I watched all those to whom I once did cling
just vanish in the night and they were gone.
Perhaps that’s as it should be in my world
for windowless I orbit distant stars;
long longing for a view I sunless curled
through galaxies and countless grey memoirs.
And then some voice said there is always hope.
I’ve heard those empty words before (I winced)
shaped like a neat and tidy noosely rope
so by that thought I cannot be convinced.
When tether’s end has finally been reached
the heart of all that sings has been impeached.
© 2011, Alan Morrison