Fadeth I with Time

Be my company, O friend of yore, For mine essence waneth, bereft of mirth. I beseech thee, tarry by mine side, For I feel thee where mine eyes see not. I feel thy love—such love as only a friend bestoweth. Mine demise awaiteth, adrift in time’s obscurity. I let thee know, mine heart can bear no more. I love not, nor know I love, Yet something stirreth beyond my ken. I sense a presence drawing nigh, Perchance to shroud my memory, To erase the trace of mine own being, And unburden this weary soul. What I love not, I care for more; Mine head is folly-bound, none a joy may mend. Erewhile I heeded the wise, Who spake that bliss is but the end of thought. Yet naught befell me; bliss came not. I dread the ticking of time, the dimming of the sky. I do but wait, to rot in place, Endlessly murmuring thus: In time, I shall cease to be. No scribe shall mark my passage, nor stone preserve my name. No tale shall bear my memory, nor waters grant me mercy. Thus, in death, I seek repose—where in life, I found it not.