Hamlet In Old Age
D
Daniel Brick
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It's not because
my memory is failing me
that I forget something
once precious, and
only now find traces
that restore it
to my grasp. It's not
that, that's not it.
Something insidious
burrows through our lives,
surfaces when it will,
and takes from us
a piece of our confidence:
a memory still suffused
in light, an awareness of
patience as strength,
a soul-truth accompanied
by music in minor key,
a heart-truth at one
with the silence
beneath all things.
Yes, dear Ophelia,
except for you and me,
all the rest I submit
willingly to that silence.
Bu şiiri puanla
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