The dust lays thick upon this sterile moon
A million miles away from life and more
Debris of rocks meticulously strewn
Like flotsam on a long-forgotten shore
It’s lonely here, as if that need be said
And cold, although my flesh is burned away
There is no pain, of course there’s none, I’m dead
And now that’s said there’s little else to say
Except to leave one proverb for the wise
Or fools like me who speak devoid of thought
Or gods ambivalent to my demise
Or to the one I love, with whom I fought
A seed, a tear, a bit of fertile ground
There’s nothing more worthwhile, more profound