Guest poem submitted by J.T. Tatur :
(Poem #1531) Past One O'Clock
Past one o'clock. You must have gone to bed. The Milky Way streams silver through the night. I'm in no hurry; with lightning telegrams I have no cause to wake or trouble you. And, as they say, the incident is closed. Love's boat has smashed against the daily grind. Now you and I are quits. Why bother then to balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts. Behold what quiet settles on the world. Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars. In hours like these, one rises to address The ages, history, and all creation.
Comment: This poem is for all those who have recently been through a break-up. When my girlfriend split up with me, a dear friend of mine sent me this poem. She explained that it had been Mayakovsky's last poem; he had it in his pocket when he committed suicide. But unlike Mayakovsky, she assured me, I would get over it. Biographical point: Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky born July 7, 1893 in Bagdadi, Georgia; died April 14, 1930 in Moscow, Russia (U.S.S.R.) What matters to me most: When the Russian Revolution broke out, Mayakovsky was wholeheartedly for the Bolsheviks. Later, he grew disillusioned as the Revolution's ideals were smashed 'against the daily grind' and criticised the Party aggressively. He took his own life at the age of 36.