When while every moment of life speaks
with the echo of nature,
some choose a concrete sentiment.
Is it possible to know last words
perhaps spill similar sound.
I wanted to say every moment meant
the exact opposite of what remains,
yet, the words, the voice, our own
struggle to be the immediate in
what we might believe,
would not allow any reveal,
we did, I did, squandered away
such is this momentum to relive.
Now will be a slow silence,
forever quiet with resolve …
ambling, fading into the summer sky,
when a melody speaks aloud
its strength is less,
like some lost memory we
no longer find to be anything
ever so important as it once
maybe one time held before.
I could not be capable of compassion
if meaning were a facade in my mind.
© Thom Amundsen 7/2021