But I cannot find words for what I wanted to write, this fear
of the night, endlessly I sit on a bus going nowhere and
I can´t find my way back to a home I have lost contact with.
I cannot remember names of old friends, only a deep sense
of loss prevails, I lost my way and have to try to get back
to the beginning ….of what? Not the shipboard life, I had
some friends there in my youth, but they are in shadows.
And this might have been invented by my forlorn mind that is
unable to seek friendship or maintain a relationship with
people other than on a shallow level, a drink in the bar.
Friendly nod, perhaps lunch tomorrow… nothing for sure.
And so it goes on and the gap of distance grows wider until
swallowed up, nebulous feeling of sadness of the gone that
cannot be recaptured, and the knowledge of that there was
no beginning and the future is a cold cosmic loneliness that
I loveless, sink into a vacuum of nothingness. The moment
when all dreams are dust and only the soil of reality remains.
Sitting in a chilly room waiting for daybreak as the night is
a long fall of wretchedness that carries no hope of redemption.
Empty and meaningless as the words I write for myself.
A nightly conversation with my miserable soul that has no comfort
and feels no empathy with self. And now as I hear the cockerel crow
I see the totality of human life is starkness.
