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and about the weather
re: the end of the world
The end has faded from view .
To wind into mythic beginnings
And concentric cycles spring
beyond circles of completion.
Titans battle in ritual
Blow for blow
Through a year in creation of seasons.
Pendulum vacillations.
Warm light and harsh chill
At fixed points an even, unsteady, balance.
And, as always, the shift.
Still not toward completion.
(Perhaps an ultimate, more cosmic, perhaps,
completion in, perhaps, the plan.)
But spiraling completion does seem less than ending.
I have no real,
nor valid and deep seated
(like a hatred)
complaints.
I can take it.
So, in this moment,
a point
of turn and return.
There are those who have been left behind.
They radiate heat until they have become
shriveled smiling skulls, being all of a season. Or they glower,
mutter, ponder the ultimate darkest ends of it all;
shivering in full furs, eyes fixed on a point.
(They're blasphemous. That's what they are.) |