Tomorrow is never guaranteed,
  But: planning for it, a "Need."

Candles in all the windows,
   on a blizzard night.
Icy self reflection
   of a face, of fright.
Prayers in frosted breath,
   hope you're alright.

The experiment,
   of life on Earth.
In the perfect Brew,
   found it's Birth.
With the eons, that
   would be known,
      as time.
Superior life forms,
   would fall,
      and climb.
One would come
   forward with
       it's claim.
With its, superior
   *****,  known as
      the brain.
They would break
    into tribes, to
       numerous to
           name.
Inability to share,
   would bring, strife,
      to the game.
It seems, the fall
   of the "humans"
      will "Be"
What can I do
   that's best
       for "Me"
Not, what's best
      for "We"

In this darkened interlude
of earth and sky
and its kaleidoscope of light
I see the irony

there’s comfort in the handprint of man
but none in the icy coldness
of the void beyond
where its suns shed no warmth

are our feelings only pasted
within the thinness of our earthly envelope
where raindrops birth and drop
and wash them all away

what worth has our ambition
our quest for brief bits of truth
when we perish in a wink of fate
and descendants know us not

when I view the starry sky
I see no godly guy
I see random scatter
and hidden matter

no evidence of intelligent design
just cold mindless blind
a nuclear stew
a violent brew

don’t mention the big bang
could be there's parallel gang
universes that always were
not requiring an initial stir

man will never last
to fully explore the vast
to understand it all
or explain it in human scrawl

Oh bountiful joy tumble down.
Cascade to my heart
and roil up my soul.
Fill me to the perimiter
and strain me to burst.

I know you are ephemeral
and may never come again
so know that I’ll relish you like the firefly you are.

Sulfur yellow a watery burn
Created in an alchemist's urn.
Water feeds fire as both evolve--
The formula of hates resolve.

You waver rights to be treated fair
Like Sampson selling locks of hair
Or selling age to a 95 year old--
Sheep follow only to die in
their fold.

Fiery seas begin as a rift
Water being the only gift.
But nothing, nothing is ever
free
once transmuted into this sea.

But logs do drift and beaches
claim
All that gave this sea its name.