We go round & round in circles
with no known destination.
We mount the stage stuffed with sorrows.
& the tears, our only companions, too little to go round, betray our eyes. 

At twilight when we move, it is at a slow pace, hoping that somehow what we lost might be found in us. No signs, 

We move quicker, steady, undeterred.

We are in the wilderness of misery,

the last descendants of Prometheus,

speaking but never loud – low crackling

voices.

The birds mocking each other,
we shut our eyes tightly, stuff our ears deep, hoping to not bear witness to the world as it ends.