Soul is weary
Heavy heart's dreary
Breastbone crushing resuscitation
Pressing rhythms flatline
A moldering past
Alas—a day to die for
There is that momentary pause
a second or two locked in hidden space,
darkness, calling out from somewhere
lapses of the uninhabitable reality
in the in-betweens;
we cannot help but enter in
escaping what lay behind
what waits ahead
all that haunts the now
the blank void that is nullified;
the quiet stillness
of emptiness here,
the chasmed abyss of nothing
the journey into lost time
over there, beyond.
for Unseeking Seeker's contest on the Void
8/7/21
All the President's memes;
Rose up into an army of stems;
They grew bold legs to carry them,
Towards the good fight.
Though cavalier and sensing right;
They lacked a head to give foresight;
They strayed into a chasmed height,
And tumbled in.
They spiralled, spinning through an age;
Passed darkened chambers, retrograde;
And filled with colored animades,
In sectioned aisles.
Here gall-eyed figures mocked them all;
With cackles, boos and whistled calls;
Rejoiced the epic fall unfold,
Before their eyes.
A voice boomed out as stems rained down;
And pacified the baying crowd;
This mighty scribed the building mound,
With an epitaph.
"That you did dare to set back time,
To turn around and redefine,
What Nature has herself refined,
This is your path.
And what you'll meet at bottom's end,
Will be a sad reflection friend,
Of empires built, destroyed again,
And gone from sight"
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