Endtime Stories
I have vast wealth of food and drink,
more than one would need in a week,
and nothing to do all day but play and dream.
The end of days is better than it might seem.
It’s ok to smile,
free to feel fine
as we slide
forever
out of time
beyond belief.
Still seeking revenge for my birth
by fading away
without worth or meaning.
Lazy, ungrateful, no useful purpose.
Unable to simply give in to being.
What if it’s not about reciprocity,
velocity, jealousy masked as scorn?
What if the secret unsheathed is
once conceived, gestated, born
random occurrences synthesize as stories?
Phantom worries, gnawing remorse
coalesce as lessons, stake the course;
but only synapse deep, lightly tangled weave.
Tales like talismans gently spin. Tell me,
tell me, tell me my name and my mission.
It can’t be my decision. I am too weak,
too tame.
Flickers, auroras in peripheral vision,
fits of flitting firefly hues, crystal
gems emitting signals in dark and light.
Constellations in the night corralling chaos.
Prayer, meditation, fast of purity, breath
centered on the wind, stillness, serene.
Not a lake, but a river, flow of history.
These stories, told as if we know,
as if they are the campfire that formed us
from mud and mystery.
These are not our essence.
We are the fire, the river, the gemstones,
ever falling from the sea.
Love in Wartime
Unfettered from declaring love.
Embracing to sooth and share our fears
in this crisis moment.
No tomorrows stand demanding proof of worth.
Who told us time is infinite?
Who forbade intimate entangling?
Who swallowed you against your will, fed on
your dissolution in distrust?
Why believe we must earn fulfilling touch,
spend so much to hide from scrutiny
that fluidity of feeling gets denied, crucified,
dismissed as crutch?
Do deities in smiling wisdom smite our plans,
playfully cut our tongues, testicles, with
viper teeth as reminder?
Schooling Rites
Circle 'round the weak;
teach 'em as we were taught
to keep to the place we're given
(not by a just universe, ha ha)
by the right of what we hold
by will, skill, better weapons.
Didn't sign no social contract
of mutual respect.
The rights we expect are
to live as best we can until
we don't.
Teach the little ones as we
have grown to learn --
the wages to be earned are paid
in lies. The riddle we devise
to satisfy our rage is played upon
the prey we find
to circle 'round today.
Re-creation at the End of the World
The end of the world we have told ourselves it is:
Widening eyes align with changed underpinnings,
first causes, metaphors, stories of us.
Disruption, distorted transition, fear and distrust
wildly galloping trample the field, cry out the call
“Just let me rest. Just let us lie here, ashamed, afraid
to allow such blinding disarray. So much safer
to fall, over the end of the world.”
Could we, softly, sanely, edit together heavenward pleas,
harmonize with birds, bees, thunder, settling sighs?
Meme-shattering symphony accessed by
dilated eyes to see
star-crossed patterns coalesce, myths reassessed,
zest of surprise.
Would we recreate deity as an image more easily
caressing,
Empathy for the 21st century?
I have vast wealth of food and drink,
more than one would need in a week,
and nothing to do all day but play and dream.
The end of days is better than it might seem.
It’s ok to smile,
free to feel fine
as we slide
forever
out of time
beyond belief.
Still seeking revenge for my birth
by fading away
without worth or meaning.
Lazy, ungrateful, no useful purpose.
Unable to simply give in to being.
What if it’s not about reciprocity,
velocity, jealousy masked as scorn?
What if the secret unsheathed is
once conceived, gestated, born
random occurrences synthesize as stories?
Phantom worries, gnawing remorse
coalesce as lessons, stake the course;
but only synapse deep, lightly tangled weave.
Tales like talismans gently spin. Tell me,
tell me, tell me my name and my mission.
It can’t be my decision. I am too weak,
too tame.
Flickers, auroras in peripheral vision,
fits of flitting firefly hues, crystal
gems emitting signals in dark and light.
Constellations in the night corralling chaos.
Prayer, meditation, fast of purity, breath
centered on the wind, stillness, serene.
Not a lake, but a river, flow of history.
These stories, told as if we know,
as if they are the campfire that formed us
from mud and mystery.
These are not our essence.
We are the fire, the river, the gemstones,
ever falling from the sea.
Love in Wartime
Unfettered from declaring love.
Embracing to sooth and share our fears
in this crisis moment.
No tomorrows stand demanding proof of worth.
Who told us time is infinite?
Who forbade intimate entangling?
Who swallowed you against your will, fed on
your dissolution in distrust?
Why believe we must earn fulfilling touch,
spend so much to hide from scrutiny
that fluidity of feeling gets denied, crucified,
dismissed as crutch?
Do deities in smiling wisdom smite our plans,
playfully cut our tongues, testicles, with
viper teeth as reminder?
Schooling Rites
Circle 'round the weak;
teach 'em as we were taught
to keep to the place we're given
(not by a just universe, ha ha)
by the right of what we hold
by will, skill, better weapons.
Didn't sign no social contract
of mutual respect.
The rights we expect are
to live as best we can until
we don't.
Teach the little ones as we
have grown to learn --
the wages to be earned are paid
in lies. The riddle we devise
to satisfy our rage is played upon
the prey we find
to circle 'round today.
Re-creation at the End of the World
The end of the world we have told ourselves it is:
Widening eyes align with changed underpinnings,
first causes, metaphors, stories of us.
Disruption, distorted transition, fear and distrust
wildly galloping trample the field, cry out the call
“Just let me rest. Just let us lie here, ashamed, afraid
to allow such blinding disarray. So much safer
to fall, over the end of the world.”
Could we, softly, sanely, edit together heavenward pleas,
harmonize with birds, bees, thunder, settling sighs?
Meme-shattering symphony accessed by
dilated eyes to see
star-crossed patterns coalesce, myths reassessed,
zest of surprise.
Would we recreate deity as an image more easily
caressing,
Empathy for the 21st century?