epitaph: In the end

    the things we love give back
    our names. One handed me a
    plain stone to carve into something
    better. Another returned the long
    lost user guide to my left brain.
    Someone passed a slip of paper,
    my inscrutable handwriting
    on one side, and on the other
    in bright colours, the words
    "I Want It All". Others brought
    flowers - irises, daffodils,
    the soft unpeeled heart of a rose.
    None of the clothes fit any longer.
    I put aside the books I'd read,
    and hadn't read, they took flight
    as endless stairs, circling
    beyond my years. But I loved
    most of all the quiet
    Sundays, when fingers of rain
    would write themselves
    on the clear page of my window,
    dying to tell me their stories.

28 September 2001   01:46 hours
pathetic fallacy { } following a train of thought on the mrt