The shadows live; the mem’ries are the light.
I call out to a voice that is not there,
No longer listening. No more the fight
Shall take me in. I’ve passed beyond all care,
But not because no joys are left. There are
Some motions, and some stillnesses to love,
And decent balm to put upon each scar.
There’s less and less I find suggestive of
My once great purpose: to exultant live
Among the many, energized, alive —
I still have strength to lift up and forgive,
Yet I would rather wait and watch than strive.
We don’t give in, we simply give up trying;
The shadows live, when it’s us who are dying