UNDER A SEMBLANCE
OF THE FORGE
There are no stars, no stars in the sky
tonight; if any, there are five. What have
we done to ourselves to live this way?
An how are we complete? Divorced as we
are now and separated from everything that
ever was, we claim our Now to be ideal, a
pinnacle reached on the heights. I cannot say,
but know I will. Distracted and dazed, a forced
face of Mankind just keeps running on.
-
The sky is black with a blackness here of
its own, by our lights. We have made it so, here,
anyway - dollars and finance and the stipple-toned
men with ledgers and counters and dodges and
tricks. They make their designations, they plot
their ways. By contrast, I stand by silently
watching as they all miss their mark.
Aloof is my only manner.
-
I cannot tell you a different story, for
there is no different story to relate. The
far sands - of Eden, Mesopotamia, Babylon
and the rest - we've left them all now, and
they are gone. There are no stars in the sky
tonight. If any, there are five.
No comments:
Post a Comment