That Bastard Schopenhauer – Poetry

To say that all we desire:
Procreate and then die!
Death is all that awaits me then —
My memory fades
with no offspring to emulate me
no one to say, she’s just like her mother
No, no one will praise
these ghastly hands nor this bitter mouth
nor these sheets of words
worn raw and bloodied
My own selfish claw ripped
away any hope of excellence
No amount of labor will bear my likeness —
No colony of bees will swarm
To protect my womb
No, not for me —
I will die as I have lived
alone and lonely upon this earth
forgotten, forgotten
and give my last breath to Death

Copyright ©2014, Lori Carlson