Each decade brings death.

The decay of all foundation of identity -
one minute prince,
next,
pauper.

Through a medicated haze I find
that another death has come to me,
everything I thought I knew was mostly
false,
lost in a swell of
well wishes and
the pavement of
good,
albeit misguided,
intentions.

So there stands our hero,
see him in my hands
and feel him in my stomach
his heart,
mirroring mine,
both breaks and beats
with the clarity of this consuming revelation:

I have finally become
totally and irrevocably
alone.

So let us march toward heaven
or the mouth of hell
whatever awaits the wounded
after breath becomes breeze
and body
embers.


There is nothing to mourn
just a lingering sense of loss
that suffocates my nostalgic
soul and
leaves me defeated
in an almost blanket of sadistic
satisfaction.

"Of course" I say to myself,
as this is obviously how it is for man
doomed to suffer under his own aspirations
and to inevitably drown in his crippling limitation
for the bonds of flesh are finite,
a prison for the breath of
God.

The farce of our free will is
that even though we may increase our situation
through self aggrandizement or financial gain
we
as one accord
are yoked together by the laws of inevitability
to mourn all passing
of our history,
our children,
ourselves.

For know this:
none if it is ours
and we belong to something higher
that supersedes us
and as agents we are sent
to fulfill our hidden purpose
pawn-like more than powerful
always living in the similarity that

sometimes we are in the midst of,

or simply in between

tragedy.

Never,
despite our best efforts
are we really
ever on sure footing.

We will never
ever see
solid
ground.