It’s the same old story told and re-told,
Thin smoke, a fire sparks newspapers sold;
“We’re up in flames; this place is doomed.
Who will scrape our souls from the ruins?”
Truth be souled, we scale our weakened edges,
Lurching through time, jumping off its ledges
In silken ticks, slick with moist memory mold
Like a baby’s crown bridging gaps grown whole.
Since the plates never cement, never solidify
Merely surrender the quest just to realize
How little matters matter in the big scheme:
Unceasing cessation’s sensation’s our dream.
So forget about alarm bells and anxiety spells,
Smoke, pills, drink and dare-to-extreme thrills
To awaken sensate waves alligated to a vision
When real proof appeared at the first incision.
At the flash, burn and expulsion, too hot to stay
A core so full of inevitable dispersion to always.
That’s life, I’m told, living between fire and ice
My story and yours, again, and rolling the dice.
Chaos, our freedom, this overlaid order a fraud,
Some call it nature, some karma and others God.
I call it “whatever” or “ok”, often I call it a day,
To rein and saddle numbered hours’ silly anyway.
The ending never arrives, the plot never unfolds,
That’s the same old story told, retold and untold
Since the steadfast mute, reveal no master divine
Across the divide no dying secret passing the line.