Thanksgiving 2015 — Poetry and Mood Swings…

I shall not go -

Nei­ther will­ing­ly,
nor with some fool­ish smile upon my face.

I shall not hope
to meet some myth enshroud­ed mak­er,
nor shall I plan to join some
per­fect­ly-pitched celes­tial choir.

My loved ones
who have passed the veil before me,
will not be there to greet me in death.

I take no con­fort in such fool­ish­ness.

This world has been bru­tal enough.

Why would I expect
some new nir­vana to exist;

One that would some­how make up
for all the evil and the pain
we knew here in this place,
and in this con­scious­ness,
faulty as it is.

and filled with fool­ish­ness.

Bad Mil­lenia.

We humans are, sad­ly, the most recent result
of so many millenia’s worth of evo­lu­tion.
And yet we are such fools -
bent by a desire to find some thing
beyond our­selves
that we can either cling to,
blame every­thing on,
or believe in.

the next mil­lion years
can bring forth some­thing bet­ter
before this world gets destroyed -

either by a bomb built on the inside,
or an aster­oid bar­rel­ing into it
from the out­side.

Don’t Know.

We just don’t know.
Can­not know, in such short time
as we have, with a mind
capa­ble of think­ing about such things.

We try to guess,
but we are worse for guess­ing.
and while imag­i­na­tion
prob­a­bly helped us into con­scious­ness,
it was a poor sub­sti­tute
for the drought we call real­i­ty.

Not By a Long Shot.

I shall not go.
Nei­ther will­ing­ly,
nor with hap­pi­ness,
giv­en a choice.

I shall not eas­i­ly give up this shell,
despite the evil and the pain
that has been heaped upon it
through­out this mean,
but short exis­tence.

I shall not turn this con­scious­ness
over to obliv­ion
with some false sense of secu­ri­ty,
or some hope for an altered,
and alto­geth­er dif­fer­ent form of real­i­ty.

Know­ing the truth
is that there is noth­ing hid­ing
behind any of the doors
dealt by death
is not an excuse for hope­less­ness,
or for deal­ing dam­age.

Rather, it makes what we have
even more pre­cious than we might
oth­er­wise have believed.

This is it.
This is life.
Not to be wast­ed,
nor treat­ed with dis­re­spect.