Days now shorten
their light becoming more and more precious.
Each day passes and leaves behind
its own residue of what never was done.
There seems to be so much,
too much residue.
(Though even when the days were longer,
the residue still remained.)

I satisfy myself with knowing
that satisfaction may come tomorrow,
and am thus satisfied today.

But what to do with this residue?
Those things we never did, those lists,
those torments of a day too short,
a desire too weak,
a spirit too broken…

What more can be done,
but be.

Go on.

Keep on going on,
for soon the days shall reach their nadir,
and lengthen again thereafter.

But what difference will that make?
Time and seasons marching on,
those things we never did still haunt us.
Lists and days too short,
desires too weak,
spirits broken.

Go on.

Keep on going on
for soon the days shall reach their zenith
and shorten again thereafter.

And what a difference will that make….