Of what worth, potential

That resounding dissonant sadness from the dark side of the Sun is the collective subconscious whimpering of a thousand dreams undone

This moaning zombie nation of thoughts we shouldn’t have anchors our spirits to our graves, (while we should be spinning gracefully) it shaves us like a lathe

Contentment polishes purposefully, pulls us towards abysmal bliss
indolent, insolent, dissatisfied
ignorant of Langston’s dream deferred

ratified indignant now, the lives we would’ve preferred

the comfortable regrettability, a life so brief, so full, so much to miss
the love we all but kissed
The lies we allowed to exist
The grief of the inevitable hangover that means we must have enjoyed ourselves but sadly, can’t remember

Hindsight proves much simpler, the Bang we thought to be so big turns out
a little whimper

Some fine example of matter are we, so enamored of our own story,
born hopelessly preoccupied with our little part to play
ubiquitous enough to die a hundred thousand times a day

Universe denies our uniquity by her enormity and antiquity
silently she pronounces us infinitesimal
her nth power versus our smallest decimal

Our grand beginning’s supposed importance ripped asunder as transported
rendered, comported
to full depletion upon the fruitfullessness of its
nullificompletion

I, like the primordial cell first divided, started to fight the longest futile war against the darkness

I, like that fateful fish which strove to crawl
who wondered to wish to walk
who stumbled then awkward toward extinction

I, like those mighty apes who forgot their trees
sped exuberant to destiny
to die upon their knees

I, like myself who lives to love to learn to lose and to die.

Humbled am I,
proud participant

of this deranged,
preposterous experiment
in pain, and bliss
and management

Ever I alternate
between true belief
and dashed
to dust
again.