Off and Off, or On and On
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
So . . . everything will die, disintegrate,
Be lost, and atoms will be less than mist.
So what? The poets have remarked this fate
For eons. It is almost like a cyst
In human thought. The cyst is not a blot
Of cancer but is just a swelling of
One truth. That truth need not become a clot
That paralyzes. Truth can bring on love.
We see a rose begin to wilt. We think,
“Its beauty too will die.” How boring. We
Instead might say, “Yes, all of us will shrink
But then there comes this serendipity:
The fact that we remind ourselves of death
Makes noting beauty live on in our breath.”