“In vain, man’s expectations; in vain, his boastful words. God brings the unthought to be, as here we see….” — Euripides
There is such mystery wrapped yet in more mystery.
Thinking one’s mind contains clarity of sight
Does not make it so… only reveals what one
Makes of it today, this very hour. Another hour,
Another day, one cannot hope to say what dawn
Shall bring upon the rise, nor if one’s lungs hold breath.
When mortals take the place of God, as they now do,
Confusion sits upon a golden throne. Yet even
Ancient Greeks believed that gods consulted oracles,
Watched for omens shimmering in the air.
Though I know not much of truth, I would suggest
Its deepest answers are taken deeper still
If given softly, darkly, hinted with smiles….
For each of us holds wildness in his heart and
Only hopes to understand it, though it may
Serve as King. It runs as wolves on
Mountains, hungry, howling at each phase of moon,
Drunk on poison of wickedness or righteousness,
It matters little; it sprints beyond control,
Beyond at best a glimpse of destiny or grace.
We do not know our own lives, nor what we are—
Nor where we go. Thinking does not make it so.
Prayers do not produce sufficient blessing that
Happiness lasts beyond a day or three at best,
Only irony lingers immortal in the wings….
Summon then what laughter, courage, dignity
Can be called, and never keep love’s passion waiting.