NOTHING LEFT TO SAY
by George Freek

THE DEAD (After Mei Yao Chen)

A sultry breeze weakens,
as the dying sun
falls like a ball of lead.
A raven searches for carrion,
hovering above my head.
I walk the lake shore alone.
I walk like a man made of stone.
If she were alive my wife
would walk by my side.
My thoughts are disconnected.
Like dead leaves
they scatter in the wind.
The leaves fall at my feet.
Tonight they will deepen
when I finally sleep.

                                                                                                                                                                                        
NOTHING LEFT TO SAY (After Su Tung Po)

The sparrow builds her nest,
but the wren sleeps in it.
The world’s a nasty place,
even for the human race.
Stars fade on a bleak night,
and December winds
nose through the streets                                                             
like hungry swine,
searching for scraps to eat.
The moon climbs the sky,
like a curtain on a play,
but the show is old and stale,
and the end is predetermined.
The stars go out one by one.
I can only turn away.

DESIDERATA (After Li Po)

Black clouds disturb my mind.
As I walk in their shadow,
they absorb the light.
Their dialogue is with the night.
The gentle moon goes up alone.
I know nothing of what it thinks.
Its meaning is unknown,
but it won’t go away.
Crows curse the sky.
Nothing replies.
My life has been wasted.
But there is no God
to whom I can apologize.

About the Author:

George Freek is a poet/playwright living in Belvidere, IL. His play BECOMING STRANGERS was recently published in Turkey. Other plays are published by Playscripts, Inc.; Lazy Bee Scripts; and Off The Wall Plays.

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