Tuesday, September 29, 2020

The First Poem

It will eat us
And all our time
In our own night.
We’ll leave small trace

Or none at all.
It will eat us,
And we know it,
And we say so,

And still we fight
And make up lies
To pass our time
And make up gods

And pray to stay,
To shine as bright
As stars that die
In their own night.