The Moment
A lightness sweeps the air--
a door shuts somewhere--
and I'm on the other side,
too lost, too free to care
whether nothingness or fame
shall take my name,
whether this world that seems
so darkly tumbling down
with all I've loved and known
will fail at last,
and like a pricked balloon
fizzle into the past,
and night come in,
the brown lumps on my skin
spread out, spread out and win,
and decay, begun so long ago
begin--
and pain--and hopeless pain--
I do not care,
but ride upon the air,
sit upon the wind--nobody,
no one, nothing,
some other, some greater thing
and pity all those below
as about their ends they go,
not knowing who they are,
not knowing what they are--
when a door shuts somewhere,
light stops the air,
and swifter than an eye can blink
I tumble down, I sink,
and on this side of the wall
sit in a heap and think.
Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie