1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

we live in times
that make it difficult
to differentiate reality from fiction

     not in the field of literature
     where borders always have been fluid

but in quotidian discourses
of politicians  television  internet
speakers present unproven attitudes
as if they were reality unquestionable

and they get huffy and evasive
if proof comes out that they are wrong
they claim that they have been misquoted
or at least misunderstood

and even if they do recant
this never hits the front page of the medium
but somewhere inside mixed with trivialities
few people check

so it seems to be up to every one of us
to use our brains and bother
whether the data we are being served
are edible or rotten

bccause these speakers
seem to have forgotten
what communication is about

we need to really understand each other

Nothingness:
Nothing,
Non-Existence,
Infinite, Eternal black space stretching out
Beyond imagination.

Yet even Nothing is a Something
That Exists.
Even Nothing could create
The Big Bang.

Everywhere we look
Subatomic particles wink and blink
Into Being
Then vanish
To reappear.

We are never stable
Ever changing
In tune
With mathematical equations.

The wonder of it all.
Force, energy, matter
Incredible piles of rock
And clouds of gas.
Supersuns and bottomless black holes.
All indifferent to the fact of their own existence
Until Life appears
Perhaps inevitably
With minds to witness
These incredible happenings
That happen
Until the end of time
If time can end.

Paul Butters

A visionary, with ambition fleeting,
staring off in space, entreating--
over whether this bleak and quite melancholy
winding path will end his mortal folly.
Perhaps it will set this pilgrim unto a great excursion,
into an elaborate and eloquent immersion,
down and through a set direction,
leading to his desired exaltation.
But, alas, his great potential remains shrouded;
a colossal shadow indeed clouds it--
Hauntingly floats a ghastly specter,
a barren image of a former mentor.
He was swiftly carried by Thanatos,
the boy left in catatonic comatose.

A plague beset upon his mind,
the young pilgrim doth find,
when veering through the innards of said specter,
there was present, some unknown vector:
guilt, no, regret perhaps?
What prevents him to elapse
the memory of a loved one now gone?
Why does the sunrise not bring about a sunny dawn?

Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool,
But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet.

The significance of my being and meaning and impact.
When my time is over and mother nature calls me back.
Decomposing and crumbling  bones of my dirt nap.
The world turns and time in memorial won't give a crap.

      Nature's rules decide.
       All things abide.

When measuring in eons and we're a mere blip on the screen.
The profoundness of our meaninglessness could be overpowering.
Unknowable infinity of stars and what they have seen.
**** sapiens defining sum isn't worth mentioning.   

   In the darkness, endless, maw
   All, follow natures law

From the Complexities of vast galaxies beyond mortal man's understanding.
To the smallest intricacies  of nanoparticles, molecules, and atoms.
With the eternity of continuous space which is still hard to fathom.
Connected composites of muddy space dust created modern man at random.