VIVAT
When frost at dawn turns silver on black crosses
we are alive
yet with each breath drawn closer
to those asleep in dark.
For every candle’s light will one day fail.
And time will snuff us out as well.
How natural, relentless still.
What weighs us down will simply pass.
Do you want forever?
Not I.
And a Poet?
What is that?
A tangle of words that might survive,
recited once by others,
the bored inheritors of lines.
So ask the pantheon of classics—
what did they gain,
when you are here
and they lie in the dark,
perhaps wandering,
perhaps absent,
perhaps never were—
and all that lingers
are words
you may read again.
Author: Veron
