Pondering a certain past.
Ideas that haunt and harass.
Alone and walking on a void.
In solitude in mind deployed.
His spirit will not let him rest.
Distilling what it might express.
Burdened by his fatal flaw.
With no belief in the law.
“Those pillars of society,
Have hollowed out so quietly.
Are notions of stability,
Beyond our ability?
Law of lands, made by men,
Who disobey. So, what then?
Law applied to . . . only some.
What then shall . . . we become?
A land governed . . . by a culture,
With pillars faithful . . . as a vulture.
Swayed in flight by a breeze,
To prey on those in disease.”
The sprinkled stars, the slice of moon.
Communing on a living rune.
Becoming wise, becoming sad.
These truths are neither – good nor bad.
“The fall from grace was not a myth.
It’s who we are, it’s what we’re with.
The world that we left behind.
And what’s to come is undefined.
Despite these flaws we’ll find the way,
That it would go anyway.”
Left his thinking incomplete.
Conclusions dangling at his feet.
To run with joy but no elate.
Accepting of an unknown fate.
With faith in the darkened sky.
And days that follow nights thereby.
© 2022 TheRememberings Ltd.