After the End

Here time suffocates

the light with rusty dust,

And a vile cobweb

of boredom clings

to the face of oblivion.

You are in the living room

Of a master of bygone years.

In a mothballed chest

Beneath a darkly polished lid

The shabby clothes are slowly rotting

And life hangs in your hand like a rag…

Once more, turning fate inside out,

You’re looking for the seams

of your past decisions

But can find only empty dead space

The decay of your accomplishments

Has spoiled your decrepit thoughts.

But you can’t hide

no matter what you wear

be it rich garment

or tattered rags.

You sleep,

covered by the flag of fear,

Here

in the pantry

of unfulfilled hopes.