Left to the World
Still the two neither coalesce nor meet.
Their axioms both too close and too surprised
to take the distance as threat
or the netherground as reality.
Yet all I know is unity.
Not a single noble utterance can be displaced
by the dying breath of the indifferent.
It’s not my birth, nor my gain
and the two will not be confused for a tryst.
It’s all in a choice not taken,
an ostensible best, better left unturned.
But how could this be?
To not bake the caress into the calamitous now
leaves you no totem to stand on.
We each had that tensile birth placed before us
with the best of its inextinguishable suns
and hindsight becoming the greatest fortune of all,
even for those left unkind, cowering behind the pale of bliss.
For them, there can be no sharing of rest.
Truth becomes disabled by mercenary duress
and fullness too often oversounded
by the derangement of certitude
and rabid prowess, misgiven to venal gest.
For it’s not here that they squander.
It’s nowhere! Remember that.
For you, its only grasping significance is barren;
one cannot fall and tear the whole world down.
Furrowing backwards had lost its sense
a billion saturnine moons ago.
Initiative had its gall, but not its mission,
following the interlopers home too soon
and lost its victims more willingly to gallows.
Only propulsion of gossamer egos into the light
can mercifully take from you what you had,
released from the stifling cavities of self.
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