Launched from the silo of the womb,
Controlled by initial guidance, everyone's
Abandoned to fly ballistic - we assume
A calculus of fate with course corrections.
Since every worldly force evolves a form,
A parabola describes our invariant
Resultant path, compulsion to perform
The Now as the asymptote at a moment -
Our trajectory approaching infinity.
Engorgéd youth, ascend in expectation –
Collapse in age, secrete a meager droplet.
Buffeted by chance and choice, the gravity
Of death, despite intense determination,
Again will kill our hopes to rise to orbit.
StratigraphyA layered section through the tell of the mind,
To sort the strata of a buried past.
The broken walls of old defenses bind
Us in a dungcairn we will not outlast.
Unearth the psychic potsherds, sleepless nights
Of votive offerings in the caves of fleece.
The glowing rubble of futile dreams, insights
From artifacts that promise endless peace.
Tell us about the man who left the palace
And its smoky light, who sought the way
To learn about himself, impetuous
To regain his vanished past without delay.
The cryptic sequences inscribed in ruins
Portend what he must learn to read as runes.