My Place in History

A Poem by Dean

I thought of emotion. I thought of desire.
What of that, you say?
Plan as we may for what is to come,
it does not exist, has not, will not.

And there is the only significance
as it rolls like thunder down forever.
Less than the void, there is no returning.
There is only now.

Yes, there are the solemn tears,
some feelings of regret, some crashing
into the sort of history we build
from tiny blocks of homemade clay,
then tear apart like the children we emulate.

There's not much room for me.
I worry. You chuckle.
And no one would blame you, including myself.
If it is based on merit, my place is overgrown
with weeds--not much to offer the world.
My single New Testament talent is quite alone.
I am un unprofitable servant.

Desire is it? No. The dream as well
is crushed. The fragments will
not ever be enough to fill the space.

That does it. I have no place at all.
~