the perpetuation of tomes

Must you go on, like
This? For dark is rife
Upon; for night is like
This? Must you go on for
Ever? For pulse is knife
Unmet; and thick as mud
Its bite: must you go on?

Miss your trembling beat
Of heart; it rebounds, it’s
Stuck, your beat, your
Heart; miss your trembling
Heat of hearth; it recounts,
It’s bound to knots of leash
Of thread: miss your heat.

Must you miss the ground
Of stone, the link of breath,
The curb of round and stench
And stench? Must you miss
The ground of home, the filial
Bone, the vapid mill of time
Repeating sharp, witty tomes?