“…And who would have thought
That my fate it would conjure
This twist in the road
On which I have wandered
Each vision and dream now
To give one’s whole life
And find nothing’s
And what good is a life
That leaves nothing behind
Not a thought or a dream
That might echo in time…”
~Trans-Siberian Orchestra – Beethoven’s Last Night – What Is Eternal
What is Eternal
Stars fight in futile battle of the dawning occupation
before the first fledglings chirrup retreat
crickets play a calando dirge.
As masses sleep snug in oblivion,
suffering remain a deadly contrarian
to a peace I pray someday emerge.
‘n so my resistance readies its day
for yet another inept battle to play.
—As I stand facing the mirror I wonder why I became what I am.
What connivance of events colluded to create this imperfection of the man I behold there before me?
Powerless, ignorant, yet yearning bestowed
for those things they’ve secreted
‘n deliberately stowed.
Why not just let it go?
Why dig so deep,
For a conclusion I’ll never beat?
Why resolve to reveal what I found,
only to find what I now regret!
‘n now hopelessly bound
to a world I fervently hold in disrespect.
I speak to the relentless suffering of billions of animals.
‘n the saddened reality that only few dare to care.
For all that I’ve failed to change
I just as well be like the rest.
Irrevocably attached to oblivion’s best
To play their game,
‘n not put my spirit to test:
To graciously let their governance steal my labor
To pray to their God, their beloved savior
To be model citizen of their Hellish realm
Take their guidance as my helm
I should cut my hair and look respectable
Shave the stubble and be presentable
Ditch the t-shirt for silken tie
Learn to speak their believable lie
Appear ambitious yet seem reasonable
Trade my Jeep for something feasible
Learn to play golf and kiss their ass
By God, no depravity I shall let pass.
—No! Not ever, I’ll not let that be
Like it or not, ‘n tho’ I’m not pleased,
I am what I am and do plainly see,
the failure of my effort, a calamity.
Now, as I look to the mirror’s reflection,
the stars are in full retreat,
the fledglings sing, the crickets silent.
‘n once again, the day’s resistance readied—
With not a thought or a dream that might echo in time.