LEFT UNSAID

Ashes in my mouth, like loves left unsaid. Nothing to take back, nothing to give.

 

 

 

LEFT UNSAID

 I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it/Since what is kept must be adulterated?—T.S. Eliot, Gerontion
 

Nothing could be taken back, nothing offered.
The passion I thought I had is an old saw—
it would not, could not cut through the years
that have turned into whorled cores in a tree
cut down in the harvest of logs, in a clearing
that will not grow again. Will not be here again.
Dry timber in a forest fire. Ashes in my mouth,
like loves left unsaid. Nothing to take back nor give.

---Albert B. Casuga