Epigrams

My father’s dead -
he died last week, a death of pain -
and yet no sorrow fills my head -
have I ever loved - and will I love again?

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Why is it I go on living? I have no fear of death -
and life seems little more to me than pushing away his wreaths!
I work, I play, I earn, I spend -
but what will I achieve in the end? I know not and as yet I cannot tell -
surely there must be some reason behind this living hell!

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Alone through life, half dead, I creep -
I have no girl with whom to sleep -
no sorrow, no love, no pity, no hate -
oh my God - what sordid state
is this in which to be?
I cannot even see why I was bearéd -
for, whilst living, I am dead.