Who now what then
Is this paradoxical universe?
I always used to ask when it would come
And now it’s come
Unmerciful and proud,
Corruption like oxidation,
Devouring all in sight,
Alleviating the puzzle like
A sixteenth century plague,
Releasing the solid to a
Crusty, rusty, crunch.
Now there is only soul to see.
The pain is suffocating and then
The pain is dull like an unwanted,
Yet soulfully begotten child,
And then it turned into something else,
Whole, like the fore mentioned puzzle,
Coarse, like the course of the day and
Night, and the endless circle
Of this precipitation of life,
A lurid willfulness, endless hope
And a satisfaction always millimeters
Out of reach, no matter how one grows…
Running out of things to look forward to?