LXXXV-LXXXVII

 

LXXXV.

Oblivion has never much concerned;
I do not fear the nothingness of death.
But then again, with ev’ry waking breath
my confidence in afterlife’s confirmed.

It’s just that ev’ry moment does possess
a meaning that I simply can’t deny,
a purpose and a value and a why,
an affirmation ever always yes.

If love and pain and right and wrong are true,
if anything is real in the now
and if indeed it matters what we do—

the future then is constantly assured
regardless of the answer to the how.
Reality’s eternally outpoured.


LXXXVI.

Well, seeing is believing—so I’m told.
Encounters with a spirit in the night
might fill a soul with wonder or with fright
but will you still believe when you’ve grown old?

I’ve seen my share of miracles first-hand,
once had a conversation with a ghost,
a vision of St Michael of the host,
yet these slip through my memory like sand.

The inexplicable can change your life
but swiftly slip we back to the mundane
where rationalization’s running rife.

To say you didn’t see it is a lie
though others might suspect you’ve gone insane.
You’ll both believe and doubt until you die.


LXXXVII.

A slow and heavy storm is crawling east;
a winter warning covers many states.
We hunker down and wonder at the Fates:
to pass us by or come down like a beast?

Technology and science show the chance
but we all know it could go either way,
a quiet night or raging break of day,
depending on the mood of Nature’s dance.

I rather like the frank uncertainty,
assertion of the will within the wild,
reminding us Creation is yet free.

It all could fizzle out or just delay.
We yet might find a frozen world beguiled.
Regardless, it shall not my choice obey.