A Trade

Rather than go to waste,
With its wretchedness waylaying,
Or fall out of grace,
With trespasses damning;
A trade will save this soul,
Will breathe new fire
To your dying embers;
I'm done early, too soon,
Perhaps,
No more island oases
In my ocean,
I keep sail under starless nights,
The sea's heaving, a dull,
Deathly monotone.
My futility is your
New lease on life,
My darkness,
Your light.
My loves can, my absence,
Survive,
Would not, your bundles of innocence;
'Tis finality, 'tis the end,
'Tis my life,
Spent.



(For my brother, Benjie.)