/ Bipolar

The Bleakness

I am the origin of my own dust,
Which falls from me and fills the ambient air.
I make my peace with time because I must.

Iā€™m blown about with every passing gust
And signs of me are scattered everywhere:
I am the origin of my own dust.

All that once shone is turning now to rust;
Endeavours are in vain ā€” they lead nowhere.
I make my peace with time because I must.

Desire decays, and longings feed disgust.
My wrinkled body causes me to stare.
I am the origin of my own dust.

A sudden ending now would not be just ā€”
But justice, now, is neither here nor there.
I make my peace with time because I must.

The hour has come, it seems, for quiet trust,
For facing up to what is bleak and bare.
I am the origin of my own dust.
I make my peace with death because I must.

The Bleakness
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