Villanelle at End of Annum

Until the day I perish all alone
the world will spin us two so far apart
our eyes, our hands, our lips shall never join.

Continents drift away on plates of stone,
volcanic ash makes skies hopeless to chart
until the day I perish all alone.

Your silence over time has only grown
more ominous than a motionless heart.
Our eyes, our hands, our lips shall never join.

Memories, sharp as slivers of old bone,
swim within like remorseless living darts
until the day I perish all alone.

In dreams, the ghoul of hope is sometimes known
to conjure phantom bliss through cruel, dark arts.
Our eyes, our hands, our mouths shall never join.

On waking, bitterness is brewed and honed
to fiercely force out hope before I start.
Until the day I perish all alone
our eyes, our hands, our lips shall never join.

Published by

Mark R. Vickers

I am a writer, analyst, futurist and researcher. I've spent most of my working life as an editor and manager for research organizations focusing on social, business, technology, HR and management trends. But, perhaps more to the point for this blog, I'm curious about the universe and the myriad, often mysterious relationships therein.

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