One-third-spent Life

I felt it chill my heart today

As I read that poem about the number three

That mentioned Plato and his nine-squared life:

Your death, man, isn’t far away.


You’ve spent your cube of three, and now

Another one begin with a sudden pause

As when the wasp arrests his sudden flight:

The glassy windows won’t allow


Escape to him, but just to see

How small he is, how hot the summer sun,

How all our life is only to extend

The moments we have left to be.


The violent wasp is then at peace

When he preys upon the peaceful sitting spider:

How long the moment when you took your life?

How slow the bullet to release?


Thanks, dear reader, should you ever find me, for pardoning a couple of days of writing instead of reading.


About philokalos

Philologist, historian, and lover of great books, I started this blog to keep myself alert to the beauty of what I see amid the demands of my work.
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