vitae
collaboration with m. fajar from late August.

silence is a mistress cruel
in affections; she deigns not
to acknowledge the forces
of where and when—lovers die
a hundred deaths in sorrow.

sometimes fraught with cares lives run thoughtlessly,
fixated on a goal or mission dear,
boring through a tunnel like gray mole,
or bearing down fixed tracks like a long train,

such a failure our short mortality,
can't emcompass all that we should needs do,
find ourselves embarrassed by our limits,
looking,—halting for heart's apology.

heart's apology is surely accepted,
for what language is more universal
than that of self-to-self, heart-to-heart?

poetic marrow echoes with the light
of deepest understanding, of deepest
ambiguity and double-meaning.
it values the vast sojourn of the soul
rather than its final resting abode.

Into chaos's huge composting pit,
Surely shortly we'll be macerated,
For recycling's all in vogue these hot days,
Fear the only thing that man can know well,

Inspiring brief moments of lunacy,
Instead of constant ages of deafness,
When man's heart hardened to clear truth's vision,
Botched another generation's sure fate.

you say recycling's 'all in vogue'—do they
re-cycle man's heart and soul, just as well?
i am an emotional piñata
for those metal-chomping jaws; bone dissolves
beneath the acidity of mankind
and its indiscriminate genius.

an ocean of salt tears i've cried now,
without having been able to perceive,
the humpty-dumpty reasons why we live,
or feel with old age all our backs curved bow,—

one only truth,—to nothing let us cow,
to everything in our clear heart believe,
even to know that life is but a sieve,
that only love can really sure endow,—

so let our bark cut out to sea with prow,
to journey out to where we can percieve,
bright milky way and all its splendored hive,
and every hope we could sustain allow.