The divine complaint

It’s easy for you,
A few winters’ discontent,
A bad summer
Here or there

Was that a tragic
Bend of history
You just navigated?
Those graveyards
Groaning with corpses,
Will soon be paved over.

Those shrieks will die away
Like the souls who bled them.
Even those eyes,
Those eyes, you won’t remember.

Do you find it difficult
To contemplate
The misery of your love,
My love?

You will die.
I will not.

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