Dim (A Sonnenizio)
“But how shall I improve the
swiftly-dimming hour”…George Johnston
Headlights grow dim in waning hours.
Dying dimwits dull bright senses.
Wilted lettuce dries dim-gray decisively.
Our dimmer moments fade with despair,
diminished we clutch and grasp old truths
in the dim light as we deteriorate amid
bucolic dreams with dimming memories,
gather in our fate, dimly seeking respite,
grateful to be lucky during dimmest days,
knowing what we now know, diminutive
our significance in a grand dimpled scheme.
Our world now spins on a dime,
less inclined to rage against dimming light,
contented, one-dimensional without much fight.
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