Lack Of Follow-up


Left antsy, pecking away at it
Is he then at root all of this?
So wonders on unrelenting

Whilestime likewise
Is any of this hers?
She wanders on

Moot points hover unresolving
Whilestime, unacknowledged
Untelling cosmic clocks tick

Till ultimately at last at rest
Declaring that midnight’s where
All’s in place and all’s well

And he’s for whom the bells toll
Aldi’s done, all is done, all is Donne
And time it is to release

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on January 15, 2019, in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. Hello Ben,

    You’ve weaved quite a bit in there, including a phrase from the guy who put the barrel of a shotgun under his chin.


    Liked by 1 person

  2. Sometimes it’s those unresolved, moot points around which our awareness seems to pivot. Multidimensional poem once again, Ben. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: