I long for the dead
not the living,
the part of me
I never will know;
and so, and so,
and yet
I don’t cry.
I don’t know why.
My youth was becoming,
always becoming.
I am not yet in the now of the know,
now still becoming
adventuring awash
in amazonic depths of centuries
and so,
not ready to let go,
to let go of the flow,
the flow and ebb of
mystery.
- June 20 2006
Ben Gieske
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-long-for-the-dead/
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