Ninety Days Of One Life 10. 08. 09

    "...а за окном как здесь - могильный август, дождик косой..."

Epigraph:    "...I've made a good living by dying
Endless wait, great solace ruling my mind
Constrained by time and drained by the cold
Still I found myself shivering under the rising sun..."

Ninety days of another drear season are ending
I have spent them alone with my thoughts - sad and gray
Walked the forest and watched the old withered trees bending
In the wind which ice breath brings just death and decay

Still I'm here. Should I write what already was written
'Bout the treason of fate and my world's hopeless plight?
I have no more to say for my mind is dead-beaten
Only Darkness embraces me every cold night

My beloved was the one who could comfort my essence
But I fear, all her passion for me has expired
Will it cause in my soul the black grief's recrudescence,
I don't e'en want to know. I am really too tired.

When the meaning of being rots somewhere within you,
This foul process leaves there not a worthy idea
If my muse quitted me, I don't wish to continue,
To stay out of the heed is no longer my fear

I've the gaps in the memory making me frantic
It tells on my murk rhymes - they get ill-shaped and lame
From the versified minimalism to the antic
I begin to repeat myself. And 'tis a shame

Am I in the blind spot of my brain's devolution?
Maybe so. My last star's grown obscure in the skies
The bereavement of strength and the love's destitution
Are the senses I bear on the way to demise

Disinclined to create, aged and long-disenchanted
Who am I but the poet whose mission's undone?
I can't state I refuse the great talent once granted,
There is simply no need to amaze anyone

Ninety short days of life... such a bridge from the vernal
Dawns that gendered the fragile expectance of -good-
To the Fall where its spirits - unseen but eternal
Wait for me with the rains and the funeral mood...