Semper Augustus

It is not the night,

but the milky bleak of sunlight, in which I find no day,

 

Semper Augustus, Nunquam Sol

 

this sour nostalgia,

and the deficit of birdsong,

cuts deeper than regret,

and the richness of this void,

that grows more cramped with every passing thought

 

Today, I am not sorry, for the men I was and am,

but I wold stitch myself a frown,

If you would only smile

 

Today, I am not sorry, but never was I more bereft,

and if I were shade, hollow and yet whole,

I'd whisper righteous cruelties,

not to those who scorned you,

but who loved you facetiously

 

Though, this guilt can never be complete,

I hope, in this, you'll understand,

and be joyfully confused forevermore