Finitude

To those paasages that do not listen to me anymore
And have become part of Your slave-empire
That bends and breaks hearts
Kills histories
And silences folklore
To those mysteries of land
That humble Being
Cut out posters of crammed ideologies
Ideologies Idols Idolescence?
To that daily Life
That you tell me is a gift
Wrapped in culture and anarchy
Trashed with jargon and
Stashed somewhere that is
Actually never really out there
To those many voices yelling from
Heavy books laden with
Promises that we can talk, we should talk
We should write, we should fight
Who is listening?
Who is out there waiting for you tonight?
To that comma that has been bidden adieu
In hopes of finality of period.

Periods of indefinite
Quest, knowledge, discovery, discourse
Intellect, Happiness, Unrest
Oh happy happy hours
That see all things happy die
No longer at ease
No longer my own
No longer yours
And now
To die
To die.