Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Good Night, a poem

Good Night

I have struggled. We all
struggle and suffer and die
and it may or may not

mean a damned thing when
the universe turns out
the lights and says ‘good night.’

This old mix of anger
and amusement sees me
through this day and the day

after and another.
Each only replaces the last,
as I have replaced myself,

year by year, cell
by cell, becoming an ever
poorer copy, till none

can read me. Then, turn out
the light. Turn it out
and we will say ‘good night.’

Stephen Brooke ©2013

Pretty much first draft, if one can actually say that about a poem that sees constant revision as it is written. But if I ever choose to go back in a revise it, that could legitimately be called a second draft, I suppose. 

addendum, a couple hours later: Somehow the formatting changed on this after I posted it! Should be fixed now. I think this has something to do with cutting and pasting from the brand new Version 4 of Open Office.

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