The Consolation of Philosophy
I paint the emptiness with beautiful colors,
but they fade as they spark, like a twilight reflection -
or like life, trapped in the birth-death cycle,
meandering on paths of natural selection.
In the pursuit of mysterious light,
my feet stumble into pits even darker -
but bitter seas carry happy flotsam,
and the breakers bear a touch of forever.
Who will gather the dry bones of the stars
when the last of them burns out and dies?
Who will remember the comet's glowing fears
that she ran from with hair down 'cross the skies?
Will there be a god to sweep the dust
of his creation into the bin - and sigh,
reflecting on his own transience, feeling
the wind of dissolution brushing nigh?
Deserter of the Gender War
Fleeting moments weigh like stone
on gossamer dreams -
meat and gristle, blood and bone
knotted up with screams.
Flesh-wound, flesh-wand - 'tis the same;
so why do we play the game?
Or is there a difference -
for peace, no genetic chance?
The answers might never come -
but until then, there is one
ray of light forged in blue steel
that can all fetters unseal.
I've steel and lead and love to hold -
these stupid games leave me cold.