I have to write this down before it flies
Right out of my head. Damn it! Where's my pen?
How did she phrase it, "Life moves on, love dies?"
Her comment was banal, cliched, but then,
Isn't most of life like that? We repeat
The same mistakes our parents made, and think,
They're so special, unique, world-class, replete
With significance, right up to the brink
Of revelation; they're just new to us;
Uncounted generations felt the same
Frustrations, the same losses and strong lusts;
There are no demons here that we must tame.
I wrote it all down; it's not very well-styled,
But then again, I'm no Oscar Wilde.