Epitaph

And so he said: it’s better to burn out
Than to fade away, the drive gone,
The passion dead, cannot find
The light, the writing on the wall
Like stains of blood of the doggone days.
Carry on, and I plunge into deep, perpetual
Slumber, and dream of things that must
Have been, of songs I might have sung.
Dream, and I look at history with
Wretched, bitter tears of scorn and
Guilt.

Pain and disgust withered away, thrown to
The dungeon where terror eats the downtrodden’s
Flesh, and hate drinks the blood of hope.
Open your eyes, see misery
Flowing through the swollen veins
Of Lucifer’s slave; uncover your ears
Hear the wailing sound of lust ablaze in the
Fires of hell.
Now, I leave this inferno, where man
Eats his own kind, and step into space
Where time is bound to eternity of peace.

April 1994
In memoriam Kurt Cobain