. . . . . .  


The living never understand.
The dead understand, afterwards.
It takes a lifetime to learn
lessons that are in a jif forgotten.

It takes eternity to comprehend
the true meaning of life,
a split-second to grasp
the wisdom of death.

I have read more books
than libraries can contain.
Not in their pages is knowledge found.
Experiences are ephemeral
to be by a bookbinder bound.


My life lies folded within
the covers of my identity.
My name appears on the cover,
the index a festschrift to memory.
You will find your name there.
It appears as a single entry:
Love. Throw me away

when you no longer need me,

I do not merit a second reading.
Without you, life never had,
never will have any meaning.




21 March 2020
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