All That Remains

I have found in you one with whom 

I can be tired

as the oil paint globe we spun at dawn

creaks past the golden age,

Into the sunset,

and begins 

to settle.

I have found in you one with whom 

I can be afraid

as the rises and falls of our bodies, like waves, 

ever so often are 

unison, in breath, 

In the final breaths,

of ourselves;

of Neptune; 

of Apollo;

of Atlas

At the hands of Prometheus. 

You are teaching me to sleep. I've never known

how closing eyes and minds to the sorrows of

The race we created 

can settle, ourselves, into the always fresh

Ink of the heavens.

How it can settle our creations, who

No Longer ponder the existence of Gods as 

they fade 

Like the morning fog that from their sight

veils us.

The novels I wrote will rot,

unfinished, to be finished

by the earth. In one gulp.

The music you made ceases on a tenor note, 

made to mimic a tenor voice,

never quite able to capture the tremor of the muse.

Pages written, pages unwritten;

it ends on a dissonant chord

I have found in you someone who will 

Remain.

When our patch of The Universe has been 

cultivated to dust, you

will meet me over our grave. You 

will say:

— With each empire we rise, we must fade another.

We may not have saved them from 

Not saving themselves, but 

I have sent those who fight only on

Behalf of the art,

and you gifted France Napoleon, 

gifted Napoleon France. 

I reply:

— C'est la vie or Carpe Diem?

Both are to thank;

Both are to blame.

You will take my hand. 

The earth we created will open up,

and like the heavens,

will swallow us whole.