Life’s meaning’s lost and Time’s the same:
My dreaming goes on, as does the rain.
Thoughts are a guided path that is ignored:
I’ll choke my stony wrath which once had roared.
Love is a route that’s full of snares:
A spiny pike which leaves some tears.
I’ve tried to be someone I’m not,
But now I see I’m just a dot.
I matter not, which is no lie:
I’ll be no one when I die.
(written in 1965)