Existential Rhapsody/Threnody/Melody/Cacophony
Posted: December 29th, 2018, 1:06 am
I wonder---
do you?---
about the dust of eternity
that we are
so adrift in the large emptiness
so small in the scale of things
look
we inhabit so much glued and carved dust
light breaks into different hues
and the blues, the reds, the yellows
which are really only in our eyes
but wonderful those eyes are
can not see the sphere of angels
darting like the lights in that 70's show
Battlestar Galactica
in 50 years that show an esoteric footnote
as our vision of colors
in the angelic post-light existence
or non-existence
our bodies
though disorganized as a song's notes
played out of sequence
or an earworm
without a human ear
our bodies content
curls of dust
specks of infinitesimals
I love that word
so near the infinite but so
downscale
yes, humans to the imagined gods
of an existence dark and wounded
and a wrong turn
a slip of the finger on the wrong key
and even these words
once here on this screen
are gone
never existed
do you wonder
how we exist
or why?
like soundwaves
on soundwaves
we throw questions at the wall
which
can't echo an answer
or maybe it does
maybe we hear only ourselves
our language a dance of dust
the scrape of friction
audible like our colors visible
and we are such brief songs
incidental micro-tunes
in the symphony of long drawn out time
we are a bar of tune in the first act
we are drunk on our importance
we drink at our party
as if
the sun will not shine
and one day
it won't
do you?---
about the dust of eternity
that we are
so adrift in the large emptiness
so small in the scale of things
look
we inhabit so much glued and carved dust
light breaks into different hues
and the blues, the reds, the yellows
which are really only in our eyes
but wonderful those eyes are
can not see the sphere of angels
darting like the lights in that 70's show
Battlestar Galactica
in 50 years that show an esoteric footnote
as our vision of colors
in the angelic post-light existence
or non-existence
our bodies
though disorganized as a song's notes
played out of sequence
or an earworm
without a human ear
our bodies content
curls of dust
specks of infinitesimals
I love that word
so near the infinite but so
downscale
yes, humans to the imagined gods
of an existence dark and wounded
and a wrong turn
a slip of the finger on the wrong key
and even these words
once here on this screen
are gone
never existed
do you wonder
how we exist
or why?
like soundwaves
on soundwaves
we throw questions at the wall
which
can't echo an answer
or maybe it does
maybe we hear only ourselves
our language a dance of dust
the scrape of friction
audible like our colors visible
and we are such brief songs
incidental micro-tunes
in the symphony of long drawn out time
we are a bar of tune in the first act
we are drunk on our importance
we drink at our party
as if
the sun will not shine
and one day
it won't
