You cough bile on the page
the rage that’s simmered in your lungs
each verb a prayer to be recalled
validated by future audiences
yes, you knew pain
it will be said
look how your soul
thickens and stretches this line beyond its margin,
churning and curdling
across space and time
pain –
how lonely.
how sad.
But then…
What if they don’t care?
you’re long dead by then
these words are but symbols
organised sounds that stood for hurt
hurt –
how strange.
how alien.
your grief is mediated –
skewed by new theory.
See this word here? It denotes ______.
This mattered back then.
To some.
They spot something else
patterns in the spaces between words
vectors that copy bird flight
consonants that rustle like rye in the wind
letters like bent fingers
They won’t care.
Not really.
You put down the pen
and spot your paperweight.
What did the man say?
Shard of a Viking axe?
That was before.
Now it matches your décor.
About the Author and Poem
My name is Nikolai Lysewycz. I am a writer, musician, and artist based in Germany. Originally from Australia, I now teach English and Music at a state grammar school (Gymnasium) and play viola with the Neuss City Sinfonia. In my spare time, I do my best to escape.
This poem was written while camping near a beach on the Danish side of the Baltic Sea. I was collecting pretty stones and imagining Vikings pushing their boats off the shore. It was very quiet.
Disclaimer: No part of this poem’s construction, planning, writing, or editing was conducted with AI. The work has been edited and proofed with the generous help of readers and editors from around the world.
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