So few, then, whose substance lasts beyond the light
Between the gathering suns and planets rising, falling, inexorable gifts
Of expansion and contraction ever in arrears, unsung universal shifts
Of natural sequence in the unobstructed view of all that matter’s blight,
Rehearsed and then again reversed by relentless periodic growth.
By God! all that is and isn’t catalogued, may just as well be total loss
Since nights are only final rites of circumstantial sentinels at best, embossed
In silver shadows robed in golden inner fires loathed
To show their faces in the darkest dearth
In greed for their own purposes. To the living, rest;
The dead, mere repetitious rioting in recreation from the West
To the East and back again. Abundant wastes are here and who on earth
Avoids the accidental? Providence translates for most to costs and altercation
Lasting little longer than a clot; wisdom, but perspicuous public masturbation.
…art by Mark Evans of deviantArt…