Category: Poetry

As eve gives way to shadows gathered;
Douse lights so eyes can see dark‘s hazzard.

Stare thru the black until shapes appear.
Then populate that with what you hear.

Avoid the bright to preserve dark sight.
Stay away from light; exist in night.

Slowly the dark reveals secret scenes;
Invisible under glowing screens.

See for yourself what’s done in the black.
Experience all that pixels lack. 

So, opposable thumbs are what sets us apart?
Not knowing how to laugh at a piss & a fart?

Then, here’s a taskmaster that kicks our thumbs asses…
Lifetimes spent punching at these digital glasses.

Three’s the magic number to build humankind’s core.
Three generations of this & thumbs are no more.

No more fifth digit; but a full phalange finger.
Memory’s mist of conquered tools, left to linger.

So, read a book or learn a craft…while you still can.
Or…
Data feed AI’s brain & speed man’s end by hand.

Alone I sit among life’s vibrations of progress…
They’ll sit right beside me for their own silent congress.

Just a matched set in the din, making one lone figure.
Then there’s a laugh not meant for me; but so familiar.

I smile to myself & hope that it fades unnoticed.
I don’t want to disturb them when they seem so focused.

Yet, here we are; two stepping stones in a roiling stream.
Together, quiet & content amidst things extreme.

Time & life flows around us for several hours.
No names nor words needed here; in this place of ours.

I named myself impoverished by the thing I could not do.
Though, past the error messages I found wealth I never knew.

Much was broken, much was lost, I couldn’t see what could be gained.
All I could determine, then, was that I was forever stained.

Hope was a single ember, yet, its wan light held me aloft.
It guided me thru my ruins dark…as is its nature oft.

It lived on nowt but wishes waif that things were not as they were.
As I learned perspective, it was fueled & caused my dreams to stir.

Now, my hope is glutted fat on treacle plans & wildest goals.
Though your light at times grows dim, it always leads to brighter shoals.

All is ever well that ends in laughter.
So, let yours peal up between each rafter. 

The bodily shake of a belly laugh?
Why, it fractures a gloomy room by half! 

Levity can neuter aggression’s blur.
It also animates the most demure.

Even bleached & dusty skeletons smile.
To live is to chuckle away your while. 

If the grimmest can grin ever after…
Then, why suppress one second of laughter?

Long ago in a galaxy far away…
A whole future has happened before our day.

What could be known was already discovered…
A time when the end of all of it hovered.

Somehow, each ending’s also a beginning…
Whether evolving or stubbornly winning.

So, that magic future where faults were repaired…
It is a memory man hasn’t yet shared.

One day a finale will come for us too…
With time, we can learn & our faults will be few.

Father Time must have himself a great cackle at clocks.
Absurd men who thought they’d caged him with their ticking locks.

Mother Nature must weep from laughing at landscaping.
Their flowered sod pasted on her wounded flesh gaping.

Father Christmas must chortle at his season’s cold greed.
All gluttony & wanting; with rarely a met need.

The long since heroes must be roaring over our wars.
None spared, none gained & recorded in casualty scores.

That truly skinny man with a blade & a pale horse.
He laughed first, still laughs & will have the last one…of course.

“That’s Life.” Death said with a rictus grin.
He scooped me up & folded me in.

“I was busy back there!” I harrumphed.
“I was only a little bit stumped!”

“You’ve won!” he said calmly through his pearls.
“Something richer than all of the Earls.”

“So what!? I was still building my life!”
“I’ve overcome so much toil & strife!”

“Now you’re rewarded for such good work.”
If Death had lips, he’d’ve had a smirk.

I pivot & say, “I did my best.”
Death said, scythe swinging, “Now, you can rest.”

Maybe Persephone liked bad boys; or just had bad taste in men.
Maybe the seasons were her choice & not some original sin.

Maybe she was raped & stolen; just as mythology has said.
Maybe she just didn’t exist & men greeted seasons in dread.

Maybe she did seal her fate with six pomegranate seeds eaten.
Maybe she was eager to breakfast with roguish Death unbeaten.

Maybe true she was tricked by the insidious guile of Hades.
Maybe she is just one more wronged among mythology’s ladies.

Maybe myths are best left for education & entertainment.
Maybe making stories real, unbinds them from page’s containment.

Spend regular moments in reflection.
Silence golden helps with course correction. 

In dark is found your minds’ eyes projection.
Peruse your paths in every direction.

Contemplate first at each intersection.
Take the time to consider connection. 

Meditate to embrace imperfection.
See body & soul; merge their bisection.

View life as experience collection.
There’s no rehearsing or resurrection.