Classic Poem

Who have survived the time extreme,
The breaking, the last knot,
The day to be remembered
Or forgotten and all else forgotten,
These are the derelict, the chosen,
The older than the old,
The sane who know their kind by madness,
By the too sane look.

What is the love between them?
Talk in silence, luck in evil-boding,
Thought endless, speech used,
Fate in their stiff hearts,
The never-to-be-said on their still breaths,
As conversation between angels.

It is a dull bright day,
Clear doom as clouds of fortune.
It is north, south, east, west,
Equator, poles, meridians.
It is a map but no geography.
It is a place but not a space.

Do they sit down to meals,
Stand up to names,
Speak of to-morrow, yesterday, to-day,
Say yes and no and keep a body
To sometimes rest the brain?

They do, and they do not,
However it would please you.
Yours is the dying word and testament,
They do but after come,
Inherit of your havoc.