Millenia yawningMoon. I know this wordQuietly, I repeat it .Alone on this cold night,Through a murky seaI look at distant stars,Which with my eyes I reachThe millennia yawning between us,A never away.This reminds me thatMy life is shrinking, dividing.I see my days in fractions, thereofPushed along by a vague notion of timeBound by the logic of diminishing return.What great explorers we must be,Most of us beneath earth. In it.Dead men tell their tales.Getting olderLife loses its redundancyNo more golden promise of tomorrowOr the blind eternitySo too we run out of historyAnd if I had what I want todayIs it enough with what I have left?Late to the show - no re-runs.So, I'm just walkingNothing really to doI just thought, maybe,I'd stare at the stars,Hoping for a clueOn this cold night,With all my prayers unanswered
A similar birdI had a bird onceLoving and loyaland nowA simliar bird watches mePry open old woundsPull at similar stichesI rummage through old picturesTrying to find which one isthe most realI can remember every roombut all the faces are all faulted"Are you OK in there?" I'm fine.I toy with a why,a how,a whenI wrestle with reasonI'm alone in the end.My investigation proves fruitlessI make do with pretendThen a similar bird whispers in my ear"Your life will end with a whimper"
The Bone GodNo God for the living.There is only the God of bones.A God of cemetery flowersMuttered prayers and funeral homesA name we cannot remember andIn time will only forgetThere is no God for the livingAnd we cannot ask of the dead.Over breath he has no dominionAnd in death he has no replyNo Angel descending on fiery pinionHas been dispatched to clarifyThe hollow echo of chorusThe falling of flesh to the earthThe riddle that ends in cindersAnd is risen only in birthThese dull and lowly mammalsMay fail to understandThese torn and patchwork animalsWho worship only manOr a God they made in their imageBy the dread of nothing concealedIn a space beyond our visionWhich time shall not revealA God of silence and emptyA Gospel of hunger and droughtA Psalm of worms for the body interred,With no room for the soul to get out.There is no God for the livingTo shackle the infant at birthNo ascent upon fire to a forever desiredTo lessen our time above Earth