April. 7, 1973 12:30 am Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

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Thanatopsis

Ephemeral listless whiteness ghosts clutching
marking dark lonely halls waiting
Waiting we wait
we wait to die
To Die no one waits no one wants to
die dying is unbelievable nobody
what's that who says hey its a joke
I'm a joke you're a joke laugh
Just a friendly joke
razorblades

How's that? screaming sad mourns to
blank walls in a world of yes you
heard me a world that's a
world of yes you heard me

Reasoning flimsy excuses getting over with it
Remembering flightless illusions of the past
Catching a hold of frightened memories
Straining to get loose.
A name..........Kathy
Yes oh god I mean Yes Oh God I remember
We invented a definition for those feelings
...Love...Kathy...No

A year later speeding home on the freeway
All of a sudden "where is home?"
Eastbound San Bernadino only 17 miles
but then we wonder was it a year
a month was it just yesterday
memories live with our all-encompassing
omnipotent minds saying was it true
or was it an invention in time; of time
...it's so easy to spin out now

Hades, gentle god of the underworld
Carry me across the Styx, my
coin is firmly imbedded under my
tongue- may it spead no more
- for it was seldom heard

But no- we cannot no we are tole
we cannot forsake the lives we
no we are told who tells us they
tell us who are they??????????
Who knows but anyway like I was
you heard me you know No I
don't want to argue just let me
No- please listen- please is
anybody listening- anybody- please
Please

Names are written in telephone books
They can't be real if they're tangible
Names come to me, I am touched
that they are truth itself.
My brother is such names.
My Emma is such names.
I search for answers but recieve none
I ask but receive not even
questions in return
We postulate that we have found
(like finding lizards under rocks)
(and moss growing on the underside)
love - but it is not
reality - that which is real is tangible,
therefore can it be real?
affection- but isn't this defined by
Love?
We postulate that we have found
Answers- and those we call
Life- but Thanatos recalls the
Answers lie with the eternal gift
*
I compose unimportant poems
in order to answer the universe
and I believe I know the answers
Then I believe I do not...
Then I walk down a lonely corridor
And face lonliness herself
Lonliness, Maturity, Poetry
These are words- What good can
they do to her? Would the same
meaning be conveyed if we had
another language in which to relate.
Do we have language at all?
One look at truth herself
We can face destiny
But isn't is malicious that not all
can glimpse her presence
On Thanatos deliver us all

1973

copyright 1999-2004 by Michael F. Nyiri
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