Generic Elegy Poem by Hans Ostrom

You will have grown accustomed
to a great many things without
understanding them.One day comes
the last day.Your tournament of delusions
closes.No one will have heard
songs your deepest needs composed.
Someone will place in boxes
objects associated with you.The absence
of your heart's humming will not affect
rhythms of the world.Nonetheless:
Well done; good show.Consider this
an elegy of sorts, perched like an odd hat
atop your future, which never existed.
No one's does.You will die as you lived—
in the present, which is chiefly
a condition of waiting.Wait for the end
of this prefabricated elegy.Here
is the end.Here it is.


Hans Ostrom 2019