Figuring and Fading

Perhaps the sickest and saddest of all my existential funks put into words.

If the universe flipped sideways, and the stars all exploded,

Then every famous word we’d quoted would be dust in cosmic winds.

If the end of our existence could be given no resistance,

Then what would be the distance between rich and poor men?

 

In death all beings are equal, and no one’s sure about the sequel:

The wisdom and the steeples crumble just like bumbling minds.

Are we blind or just inane? Has the trip become insane?

Are we fighting back the pain with all our facades and designs?

 

There are no brilliant answers when our truths contract the cancer

Of our own inept decrepitude of spitting in the breeze.

Diseases and disasters are still our tyrant masters,

And no logic or thundering blasters can change mice into cheese.

 

I can’t hold the night at bay when I’m constructed to decay,

And with each passing day, I’m a little less alive.

I can go, or I can stay, but it won’t effect the way

That we all dissolve as fallen leaves and rot like withered vines.

 

I’m not prophesizing doom. I’m just pointing to the tomb,

And with all of it’s shiny gloom; it’s just a manmade hole.

I am wondering if I’m whole, and I’m searching for my place,

But if I have a soul, then why don’t corpses ever roll?

 

Water moves, but it can’t smile. Earth can shift, but has no wiles,

And fire burns, but can’t desire to consume the way it does.

Wind may blow, but it can’t breathe, as it moves the flames and seas,

No personality is evident; it’s just because. Just because.

 

I try to hear the voice of God, but it’s just miles of empty air:

Some defiled and some too fair to put into grunts and moans.

I can cuddle with a stone, but it will not reciprocate,

And as ponder fate, I picture dust on lifeless bones.

 

I could call it all a fluke, and deny there’s any truth,

And all we have is youth that passes quicker all the same.

I could weave moments of hope into timelines like thick rope,

But it would still just be the twine from which I’ll, one day, hang.

 

The dead sang when they had voices, and rang lamenting rejoices

Of the these same confounded choices I have stacked so looming tall.

I suppose that what I know, as I watch tides shrink and grow,

And the feel cool wind blow, and see fire glow, and stomp the earth below . . . 

 

Is really nothing. I know nothing at all.

Author's Note

I'm now writing the flipside of this coin.

Reviews

[Gheeneil]

No one has ever unravelled the mystery hitherto. We still stand in awe. I like the way you're looking at things. Such point of view is seldom seen by men. The perspective is just right as to take a peek onto the wonders of this world. This is a wonderful write, Freder. Such observation denotes wisdom.

[Kristina Moulaison]

This is great! I absolutely Love the ending, appropriate to the subject. I am reading and running, but wanted to say something. Your words are masterfully crafted!