Ephemera

Words are fleeting
Especially when greeting
And as those words had passed
So does their judge
And what you thought to ask
Answered begrudged
All night I write
Today tomorrow and forever
Believing in my prose
Knowing that it has to last and that it could never
EVER be forgotten or consigned to oblivion
Every word's might
Must stain the reader's nose
Their tongue must be bitter-ridden
The eyes used to read, confabbed
"My sight has went a-missin' "
Their eyes couldn't touch scopes meager and plain
And blearily read with resigned consent
The works that even I have trashed
You processed what I wrote
And listened to the way it had spoke
You nodded and sighed as if to complain
And my words were never remembered again