whispers of futility
whispers of futility
sitting in silence of staring far into the dim distance
aware of the stopping yet still aware time does not
now lost in moments of caring embracing resistance
the dust upon a window sill of skin stardust and rot
mortality calls from the first until the quiet calls last
wound around the frail fiber dyed set into the cloth
forever filling up to a burst spilling future and past
sharp as a bite of a viper soft as a brush of a moth
futility whispers words of death in a constant chant
moans and drones syllables meaningful meaningless
a muttered dark dirge of breath as the angels recant
unwilling to accept the fate or to sip of the chalice
fulfilling a precept of hate to kiss the lips of malice
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