The inevitability of events.
The mutability of priorities.
The forecasted consequences.
When you set to salvage
matters non existing,
matters you yourself had dispensed with.
No hope, no fear.
A hope? ah deferred now.
Drowning thy pronounced absence
or ubiquitous presence-
in the dim mechanicality
of everyday actions.
And failing. Betraying.
Was life any easier?
Solutions any cheaper?
No. And yet...
An added ardour
lent by thee,
thy mere existence.
Life goes on neverthelessly
with or without anodyne
long, unending, drifting....
____________________________
Wordsworth: "emotions recollected in tranquility"
In real: fake mimesis and exaggeration
In defence: no expectation(genuinely)
An afterthought: extending my allegiance to Wordsworth
