Muth Labben

ben muth labben

Today is for counting my wasted yesterdays
Each one neatly lined up
row on dusty row

Every year the same

Today is for remembering your unborn tomorrows
And the time I sit
because walking is too slow

There is no blame

Today is for pretending to make sense of the past
From a life ended
with nothing to show

When I speak your name

Today is for thinking that memories last
But all they do is fade
until they go

Like every unfinished song to be sung
About the death of a son

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

5 thoughts on “Muth Labben

  1. Thank you, Pixieannie. Fortunately, this one was written a while ago, as was the event that gave me the words. But the feelings that still find their place in words will remain, always.

    Like

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