Every Day I Love Life Less And Less

Perhaps it’s just an age thing,

this lessening and lessening

of feeling.

Every morning, all that I am

seems diminished,

as though the me of me

is now less than it was

only yesterday.

The capacity that I had,

for loving or caring,

for wanting or needing,

for just being me,

has reduced.

No sunrise can break it,

no birdsong, no kiss,

no kindness.

It is on me now, this feeling,

like tiredness, or a sickness,

or the weight of the world,

the dark sins of mankind,

holding me down.

It is irresistible and enervating.

The more I see of it,

the more I learn of the world,

the more I fail to care for it.

Every day I love life less and less.