Epsilon-Twelve

Doubt, old friend, you have a constant comrade Been to me through all these waking years. You've held my heart and hand; you've gently played The part of patient guide; you've tempered fears With proof of fallacies, and where they dwell; You've told me when I've erred, and thus you've let Me know how to progress; you've led me well Along the road to wisdom. I forget, My friend, what life was like before you came. Indeed, I find I cannot quite recall With what consuming awe I viewed the same Shimmering stars which now I know are all Mere memories of lights now lost. I fear, Good doubt, though well you've played your part 'til now, Your part is

To one who languishes in memory;   Who, like an aging swan, sings his laments; Who craves the bittersweet too readily,   And with a bitter scorn his peers resents; Who spurns the Sun which abdicates its throne   Each night, and spurns again the Sun's return; Who with contempt consents to life alone   And loathes the company for which he yearns; And to this one who sojourns in the depths   Of reminiscence, lost within a flood Of anguished thoughts; Who nourishes regrets   And warms him by the ice within his blood There is no light but that which others give; No life but that which only briefly lives.

Road ahead, I ask of thee A stream or a river To bear me hence. In trade I ask Not wherefore nor whither. Road, whose aim meanders so 'Twixt mountain and valley, Oft stray near paths which would make light My burdens to carry. Road, to weary steps, be kind. And be thou forgiving To body worn and heavy head, Which buckle 'neath living. Road, lead on. Oh! Road, lead on And carry forth my feet. Sun o'erhead, shine thou upon The captives of shadows. Dispel the dark from plains and moors, From forests and meadows. Sun, who ever draws the day, Be constant in thy course. And in thy march keep resolute; Yield thou unto no force.

It was never a question of “if” or “when.” They had all known it would end, and no one had cared overmuch for that fatal deadline. Nor had any paid heed to the “how” or “why” of it. With possibilities bordering on the infinite, it was all a matter of petty curiosity. Indeed, if there had been someone there to chronicle the end, they might say it was entirely underwhelming. No great wars had brought them to a fiery conclusion, nor had their world collapsed in on itself. Far less than a bang, there hadn’t been so much as a whimper. In the end, the human race met its end in silence. Mankind f

I am but a tempest made of words; A din of voices tempered as the sea Which, ever raging a cacophony Of syllables, must photograph or paint Themselves, or else remain to be unheard. I would it were that I, without restraint, Could tear apart the clamour in my head And shed all thoughts. Alas! What would be said Of he who chose a silent mind? Absurd! (Though mindless men are surely sans complaint.) And so I dare to call myself as such - A Writer - though all others might, with scorn, Spit out the word. I mind not overmuch, For ink alone can quell a thought-borne storm.

I LEFT MY HEART SOMEWHERE AMONG THE STARS  As I in splendid slumber sauntered through  The cosmic night. I recalled poets who Had upwards gazed and honed their lyric art With florid toasts to that which makes a farce Of Earthly wonders. Laid I then my heart  Before the Heavens. Aye! Stark bare it lay,  And I - an unbelieving man - did pray That beauty such could breach the cold impasse Of distance, ere from life we all depart. I woke - Alas! That I awoke! - and wept,  Lamenting that the Sun could bear no light  To rival those which ever herald night, Where safe my elsewise stricken heart is kept.

IF I WRITE in florid poetry,   It is a sentimental art      Which makes of fledgling hills a lofty peak. If my words with rhet'ric veiled be,   It is a matter of the heart      Which ever and again is loath to speak.

Look to the sky, See it shimmer with light. The Moon and Her face Smiling down, shining bright. Rest now your head, Surrender to the night. Pray never beneath will you lie. Quiet your thoughts And close your eyes. Know in your heart There is no need for fright. Let sleep take hold, And dreams take their flight, And only 'til dawn will you lie. Fear not the dark, Nor worry of plight. The Moon won't forsake you, Nor ever shall I. No harm will come, Not while stars are alight. Know that sooner would I rather lie. As ash and as dust would I lie.