“We’re drawn away from gods toward rotting refuse,
for gods entice none. They possess being and naught
but being . . . Serenely, like swans over the eternity
of its unplumbed surface: so the god glides and
dives and preserves his purity.”
–Rainer Maria Rilke
All the words have been said; all the deeds done,
So where these days, can we find our fun?
Even the extremes seem dumb:
War? poverty? ho-hum.
The ravages of disease?
Oh, please . . .
And don’t get me started on this insipid economy!
Have you lost your job? lost your home?
We’ve been doing that desperate dance since Rome
when Nero fiddled
while his home sizzled
And ashes became his throne:
But it all just makes me yawn . . . .
My get-up-and-go has got-up-and-gone!
Won’t you elevate my mood?
Where’s the stimulus plan for my attitude?
Bring on the scandal already!
Throw me a party with salacious confetti:
throw lies and murder into the air;
Light festive candles on a sordid affair.
It’s none of my business, but I don’t care!
Only tales of tragedy bring me alive.
By the gace of suffering, I survive:
as you decay, I thrive;
you are the compost, and I am the rose.
That’s always how it goes.
It’s the way of the world, as everyone knows,
When everything that’s said and done
by anyone and everyone . . . . . .
Oh! I’m done with writing this stupid thing!
It’s just soooooooo booooooring!
Copyright 2009, 2014 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.