When the final curtain falls upon my eyes
while the Gods haggling sounds like barks
and winged creatures do battle high above
for whom will obtain my life’s spark
as I return to the great void
to see where I will be deployed

While few who walk upon the soil
Speak my name
as darkness deepens in my brain
and deaths winter overtakes paralyzing all my ends
then the screen of life runs in reverse
before me I see all my turns and bends
have I let myself be sub-versed

I feel the changes
The coolness
Damp breezes
Flowing in waves
The future holds us
As does the now
As yesterday is let go

There in the distance
We feel the winters touch
Yet what's this I hear
Across the mountains
Whispered by the streams.
Even a sailing leaf
I see it touch your hand.

There are gaps in heaven,
empty voids of godlessness
through which almost-angels fall
through arcs of feathers swirling
in slow spirals of building sin;
their ends are fissures rent in hell
filled with almost-demons rising up
on wafts of kindness and respite.

In the space between are mortals,
frail lives of narrow frenzies
caught by shifting moral webs
of goodness and depravity,
our prayers and curses fought over
by those above us and below
like starving jackals hungering.

Late at Night in the sky there are stars to be seen.
Constellations abound with a brilliance that’s keen.
But when gazing above bright suburbian glare
all I note is the darkness and stars that ain’t there.

About four in the morning bright Pollox is viewed.
Maybe Sirius, brightest of stars, white, blue hued
and Orion’s wide belt arcs from west to the east,
but there’s no Milky way. Where the Hell is my feast?