And now your time is ticking out –
Each second like the last –
A fact, lest there be any doubt
Your life shall soon be past.
Your house has tumbled to the ground;
Your garden’s gone to waste;
And every single hope’s been drowned
At length or else in haste;
And laughter’s Echo in your throat
Has long since sadly died.
And so, with neither hat nor coat,
You drag yourself outside.
And, in the unforgiving air,
You’re overcome by sheer despair.
Photo by HARALD PLIESSNIG on Unsplash
Existence (3)
