The Facts of Life

A villanelle poem

Photo by Wil Stewart on Unsplash

Facts of Life

My dog is gonna die, but so am I,
streaks of light like cobwebs strung across the ceiling.
This life is nothing, a broken promise of time.

The minuscule comforts of drink and high,
are palliative drugs like sleep and routine.
My mom is gonna die, but so am I.

I live and I try to put the end out of mind,
believing all rivers come home to the sea.
This life is nothing, a broken promise of time.

What beauty beheld eclipses the saturnine
knowledge that joy is but a brief feeling,
my wife is gonna die, but so am I.

I ask the stars, tell me, where does the meaning lie?
And silence answers to leave me reeling:
this life is nothing, a broken promise of time.

Then, I resist the hopeless urge to cry,
I love, I dream, I give myself space for healing.
We’re all gonna die, but for now, I
see my life as something, an open promise of time.