Camus

Ask me life’s great and important secrets

and I will give no answer

will recite no mantra

For I am that candle before the gravestone

Flickering tirelessly

Each shadow a death now forgotten

Each grief a testament of love

An altar to life

For we are all martyrs in our causes

Spilling memory like blood across the stone

Placing the cold coins of our eyes to the

Colder sins of our lives

When did the futile become so beautiful

Or is that how it always looked

Pouring through the keyhole of perception

Skipping on each melancholic wave

as the tide lulls slowly into a flat and careless sleep

Each wave meaningless and silent

And beautiful