Life ...A Poem



What was this interlude, this life?

Like withered flesh, youth and inborn hope

gone slack (awareness counters

weakly the dying of the flesh).

Let eons pass, wash over me

and tiny fame I craved in youth,

that by default, would death defeat.

What mattered then? What matters now?

Art? Thought? Lust? Love?

Fairness, kindness, perhaps.

Why be cruel in lives of brief extent?

God's world is cruel enough.


New foundations must be made,

celestial-laid to bear the weight

of grown awareness, age and death –

sardonic sand slipped in the mix

by cheat who'd cadge a scale of gold.

A worn-out life and world demand

new hopes, new lies, philosophies,

consigned, consumed, instilled...believed.

Glean life-enhancing fantasies.

Ingest new views of earth and sky,

ideal divine entanglements;

solar flare that sends a god to earth.


Copyright by Don Gray


Don Gray Art  •  Poems