Sometimes there is a streak of seriousness that hits me and I write something without snark. This post is a small tribute to these times. The times when it seems the clear meaning of the universe is that things will have less than happy endings.
They are a tribute to stoic attitude. Hopefully a reminder that we can prevail without storybook endings. Contentment with how it is or raging against the slings of fortune, but continuing with verve. It is a lesson we all could use reminders on from time to time.
So here's to sweetness of contentment flavored with a bit of bittersweet reality. May your life have a dash of this to maintain humility. I know that is what it does for me.
Cosmic Cotillion
Planets and stars pirouette—spin around,
while music of the spheres beats on the ear;
the divine cranks a handle and the sound,
of hurdy-gurdy grinding does appear.
A dance to the same monotonous beat—
a pavane with slow, somber, stately step
until we tread the dance with weary feet
dragging our cares we ever onward schlep.
All becomes a recital of ennuyeux,
a round that repeats unchanged forever.
Self-Deception
Let's speak of things that cannot be—
dreams that engender false control.
In hopes to set our spirits free,
let's speak of things that cannot be.
In the search for serenity
plant vain hope deep within the soul.
Let's speak of things that cannot be—
dreams that engender false control.
A self-portrait painted all in blue
life stretches from nothing out to never.
Then personal feelings—a lonesome wail,
becomes words of a blues song's mournful tale.
Crystal Ball Full Of Smoke
"There were men long ago,
an ancient seer told me so.
But then time passed them by
o'er parched land, 'neath blackened sky.
They left earth pocked with many holes
as black and empty as their souls.
A few insects still are there
and fly through thick, putrid air.
They wouldn't listen when wise men said
"If we don't conserve, earth will be dead."
They stopped their ears and closed their eyes
and called out science as only lies."
Jesus looked upon his Father dear
and on his cheek was a bitter tear.
The Father spit and roared, "Fie!
In the flood I should've let them die."
Then the spittle hit the ground
with a dust cloud and a hollow sound.
This is the future that I see
if wanton waste is left to be.