Some days
Some silent, wordless days
Look at an image
- a poem, punished to exist for the sake of itself
As if to embody Futility
And have itself laughed at

To pursue Beauty
As an abstraction
To resign itself to the possibility
That the words thrown into space
May never return metamorphosed
Remaining as dormant sound - unheard
A voice, unrewarded by comprehension
A love, unrequited
Which must press on, regardless
For it remains the stuff of life itself