She comes forth
like waves slipping over
the sand
again and again
delivered from darkness
coveting the light
And light is her signature.
A conundrum.
Light erasing light.
How can this be?
I will tell you.
Light is the companion
of the dark
trips joyfully in its shadows
And this dance
weaves a potent tale
of a two-faced goddess
one face peering intently into the dark
one lit by the morning sun
Yet darkness rules the day
hastens the twilight
gives measure to the
dimming
and finally
captures the last of the light
in a sea green bottle
We are drawn into that night
valiantly
or not
weeping for lost opportunities
or not
but at the end
waltzing into the unknown
Yet I do not suppose
darkness without light
according to my theology
a life that ends in simple extinction
cannot be
it is a null set
The fundamental equations
do not permit it
nor can my simple mind
fathom such depths
So in my dotage
I repair to wine and song
to ease the pain
of these uncertainties
and then to poetry
to catalog the human condition
and leave a trace
that yet might sparkle
in the instant of my demise
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
She comes forth
like waves slipping over
the sand
again and again
delivered from darkness
coveting the light
And light is her signature.
A conundrum.
Light erasing light.
How can this be?
I will tell you.
Light is the companion
of the dark
trips joyfully in its shadows
And this dance
weaves a potent tale
of a two-faced goddess
one face peering intently into the dark
one lit by the morning sun
Yet darkness rules the day
hastens the twilight
gives measure to the
dimming
and finally
captures the last of the light
in a sea green bottle
We are drawn into that night
valiantly
or not
weeping for lost opportunities
or not
but at the end
waltzing into the unknown
Yet I do not suppose
darkness without light
according to my theology
a life that ends in simple extinction
cannot be
it is a null set
The fundamental equations
do not permit it
nor can my simple mind
fathom such depths
So in my dotage
I repair to wine and song
to ease the pain
of these uncertainties
and then to poetry
to catalog the human condition
and leave a trace
that yet might sparkle
in the instant of my demise
Dea Tacita was a Roman goddess of the dead. The Silent Goddess.
