unaccountably we are alone
forever alone
and it was meant to be
that way,
was never meant
to be any other way—
and when the death struggle
begins
the last thing I wish to see
is
ring of human faces
hovering over me—
better just my old friends,
the walls of my self,
let only them be there.
have been alone but seldom
lonely.
have satisfied my thirst
at the well
of my self
and that wine was good,
the best I ever had,
and to night
sitting
staring into the dark
now finally understand
the dark and the
light and everything
in between.
peace of mind and heart
arrives
when we accept what
is:
having been
born into this
strange life
we must accept
the wasted gamble of our
days
and take some satisfaction in
the pleasure of
leaving it all
behind.
cry not for me.
grieve not for me.
read
what I’ve written
then
forget it
all.
drink from the well
of your self
and begin
again.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
