The Last Straw

The Last Straw

 

Roof grass,

Tall and haughty,

Your face sullied in grey and silence

Dawns in the last drop of dusk

And sticks the straw neck out

To an airy dream,

One lost in

Soft melancholies of sparrow flights

And chirpings.

 

How many childish cries

Have landed on your murky greenness,

The narrow surface of lonely grass,

Tired grass,

No-one can tell.

You sip the cool Autumn breeze

And you let yourself go gently, dramatically

Shaking the few dewdrops that still

Cling to your slim waist.

 

You spend this glimpse of life in obscurity,

Unbeknownst to good and evil alike,

And yet a slave of time you die in a whisper,

In a longing for a less lonely graveyard,

Until you are nothing.

Until you are less than nothing.

 

Sleep now.

Rest in the shade of mortality:

Tomorrow you’ll be gone

For good.

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