What can Joze do to waste time?

An Old Man Awake In His Own Death
by Mark Strand

This is the place that was promised
when I went to sleep,
taken from me when I woke.

This is the place unknown to anyone,
where names of ships and stars
drift out of reach.

The mountains are not mountains any more;
the sun is not the sun.
One tends to forget how it was;

I see myself, I see
the shore of darkness on my brow.
Once I was whole, once I was young...

As if it mattered now
and you could hear me
and the weather of this place would ever cease.



I found this in Murakami's 'Underground.' I should read more poems.