Eschaton

To think of things it rather would ignore,
The mind turns often, spiting my desires.
E'en though my heart does fully it implore,
My head, full stubborn, conjures up past fires.
In troubled sleep and fever I recline,
Rememb'ring what would rather be forgot.
If only my own thoughts I could decline;
But no, there's nothing stronger than a thought.
And yet, while past and present coconspire,
The future is the rock on which to build.
Though under sun and cloud we men perspire,
The sky will open, promise be fulfilled.
This world will pass, all sadness wash away,
When morning breaks upon that final day.

Enthymeme

A mathematician missing a variable,
Leaving equation incomplete.
The formula falters.
Chemist's misplaced ingredient,
Leaving the reaction inert.
Nothing stirs.
A map without landmark,
Leaving adventurer lost.
Directionless.

Searching the skies,
Only to find scattered points of light.
Between, only nothing.
Endless void, full of the unseen.
Through dimensions,
The planet runs in circles,
Like a child searching for his mama.
"Where are you? Where are you?"

I tried to finish.
I knew the conclusion,
Had the first premise.
Yet each of my mind's forays fell short,
Like an arrow from the weak man's bow.
I know it is true, I know it.
Why do I not know in full?

The scholar tears his pages,
Splitting words apart from their structures,
His syllogistic system shattered.
He thinks a while by the fire.
He stops.
He is tired of thinking.

Iceberg floating, its surface seen.
The boatman steers around.
He knows what it is,
Where its boundaries lie,
Never looking beneath to the full form.

A tapestry frayed at the end,
Threads missing,
Dye smudged and shapeless.
Picture only in part.

Three cannot possibly
Be simultaneously
One.

God and
Man.

How?

To Samuel Johnson

To show a moral path to ev'ry man,
He pleased, instructed, wrote with skillful hand,
Compiling ev'ry word of English speech
And scribing Parliament beyond men's reach.
Though poor, and sick, and tiring of his life,
He gave all that he could to those in strife.
Of vanity he wrote, man's foolish pride,
Our puffed-up attitudes he chose to chide.
Yet calm and comforting his satire came,
Not one to swiftly wrack us with our shame.
Of Rasselas he wrote, that naive prince
Who sought to know the world and happiness.
The wand'ring lord eventually did see
That we must choose the right eternity.
A Rambler wanting uplift of our minds,
He made us think of how to use our time.
He wrote of poet's lives and of aesthetics,
But of himself he was the harshest critic.
He left our world with humble, sad regret,
Yet clung to life with vigor: no, not yet!
Perhaps of future readers he ne'er thought,
But he'd be glad to know: we're pleased and taught.

Bloodshot

Rivulets of red
Tributaries of tiredness
Glowing globules
Flushed faculties
Weaving web of warped whiteness
Dried, dreary, drooping
Itching with irritation
Strained with staring
Volcanic vision
Painful pictures
Overly occupied optics of
Exhausted eyes

Insomniac

I can't sleep.
My mind delves deep
Into the mines of the past.
So much regret
Lining the depths,
Glittering in the caves of nightmare.
How long will this last?

I should have spoken
Or given a token
Of what I felt and thought.
It wouldn't matter,
But I'd feel better
Letting the truth be made whole.
Simple rest is sought.

A restless mind
Pores with eyes blind,
But imagination blazing with vision,
Through time and space.
A greeting, a face,
Burning into my soul's tapestry.
Is this a prison?

Your words I hear,
And so I must fear
That I could have changed nothing.
What longing imparts
Cannot change human hearts,
Despite all the striving of affection.
Did it count for something?

I can't sleep.
Can you?

Alpha to Omega

Alone, we come into this world.
But not alone, for guides watch over us.
Cooing, calling, soothing our bawling.
Caressing and holding until we are falling,
Blissfully into safe unconsciousness.
At once helpless and helped, life is unfurled.

Days, months, years pass away.
Early days move to adolescence.
Feelings, changes, joys, rages,
Fretting over freedom, breaking our cages.
Emptiness assaults our new-found sense.
Did we not used to be happy each day?

Grow to adulthood, the process is slow.
Holding ourselves to standards and goals.
Imagining successes to come,
Initiative easy for some.
Higher, further; once, we were foals.
Great is our learning; how little we know.

Judging the future: an impossible task.
Kicking and screaming, we fly through life.
Longing, not quenched; desires remain.
Living itself seems to drive us insane.
Kaleidoscope of action and strife.
Just some clarity: is that too much to ask?

Making one's self into something worthwhile:
Not simple, nor clear, but murky at best.
Only some things are truly known:
One Who does not leave us alone.
Now, there is little in which we can rest;
More than us: that we cannot defile.

Predicted, but forgotten.
Quick will it come, the great judgment.
Rain of fire and reign of the higher.
Reality is more than our empire.
Quench your thirst; don the raiment.
Prince of peace, of Spirit begotten.

Sanguine sanctification.
Truly, I say to you; no one can come.
Undying: He is the only path.
Using our hate, He put off His wrath.
The holiness of Himself he gave to some.
Surrender, every nation.

Viciously we scorned.
Watched him die without pity.
Xenophobic race, we feared the inexpressible.
Xenial Father born in a stable,
Wills us live in garden and city.
Victorious are we, though His head we thorned.

Youthful ignorance haunts us; we know naught.
Zest for life falters in our constant, foolish doubt.
Zealously we search for what we think ourselves without.
Yearning for surety; by Christ, already bought.

The Fell Fiend

He takes up his sword, he takes up his bow,
And travels the acres of frost and snow.
Through woods, o'er rivers, 'cross fields, hills, and vales,
He seeks the creature spake in dread tales.
By fires he rests; he sets foot at dawn,
Quickly to slay the rampaging hellspawn.
The monster, he's told, has slain of mankind
Ten thousand and more, devoured Adam's line.
Warnings he heeds not, nor words of his doom,
No sense of foreboding o'er his soul looms.
His right hand is mighty; his feet set firm;
His strength and courage will weather the storm.
Nights and days pass by; 'til finally he
Approaches the cave that houses the fiend.
Blood covers the entry; gore and entrails
Portend the fate of he who tries and fails.
With no hesitation, he marches in,
To conquer and kill this creature of sin.
The air becomes dark; he feels out his way
Along the cold damp walls of ancient clay.
He stifles and chokes; he can hardly breathe
Amongst the rank stench of putridity.
A voice whispers now, in language unknown;
It beckons him, calls him into the stone.
Whether 'tis man, beast, or only the wind,
He follows the voice and plunges within.
The voice ceases suddenly; with no sound
To hear, he shakes as a corner he rounds.
There, to first comfort, then dread of his eyes,
A faint glow comes forth; the cavern wall shines
With splatters of blood; the room is dark red,
Painted with ink of innum'rable dead.
The man steps forward, and finds at his feet
A pool of still water; he stoops to see
His own face stare back; there's nothing except
His own visage, into which fear has crept.
He swivels, expects the foul creature near,
He shouts: "Come and face me, I do not fear!"
His words bring nothing; there is no reply
Except his own words, come back to his mind.
Nothing is there; for this cave holds no life,
Mere death, and death only, the wage of strife.
Once more into the still pool the man stares,
And in it he sees his own wants and cares.
Now he knows fully; he knows what dread heart
Can topple empires and rip kings apart.
There is a monster that devastates lands;
It sleeps here with us; that creature is man.