Monologue

My lost daisies and daffodils
and silent walks
with Wordsworth on empty
nameless streets
living in dim lights.
Lamp posts and sidewalks
and cafe, monotonous talks;
Long winding lanes, avenues
of abundant green,
the touch of soliloquy
the end of rendezvous
with me and only me.
Here I come everyday
in my solitary walks
and suddenness
to carelessly embrace
fragile sense draped
in satin and silk of the east
Down seven feet my bones
lie in dust and to dust returns;
and dust comes tumbling after
my history and my reminiscences
of fragmented peace.
It is then that my throbbing,
vibrant present
of luscious lips, of moist eyes
pretend to cease
forever in solitary reapers
and tintern abbeys.
Here I bade my last goodbye
to poets and alcoholics
Because from this day,
this moment of history
they conquered me and started
inhabiting this shell
I call my own.
Now I contain them
and someday,
some dark, sympathetic
corner of time,
I shall contain you
like I had contained multitudes
before your time
and my eternity.