another generation, then, another life (new poem)

another generation, then, another life


… the moon is barren and empty tonight
and we are following so, just so,
breathless, light, afraid to commit torrid acts of beauty
for dare we disturb this universe
in which we lie to ourselves
(not such a secret lie)
a perception of such words as functional
in which passion is death to health
and, oh, we will play close, so close, teetering on that edge
between art and death
and oh, we then play false, so false
we lie only to ourselves

only love
only love. love is the only way out and this
moment, this breath, this play, this
brush stroke, bow strike, strum chord, footstep
this moment of
passion before death
and truth before life
in side the feeling of dying
is the freedom to be

…
but we have conversations, oh yes. and
we
learn and we are
cordial and we are
healthy and we strive to
do what’s right and set up savings accounts and
quit smoking and quite rightly.

we
figure
it
out.

(but where are the ones who stand up for
what seems like lunacy!)

but I swear to you, I swear to you, I swear to you


drunk on
life
for life itself
and the breathing in all of what is just beyond these
plastic casings we have
placed so tightly over the
mirrors?

if that old saying is not yet too trite
then I will say again here: the eyes are the windows to the soul.
I have taken the death shroud off these windows
and will do it again and
again
and as ever many times as I must.

my eyes happen to be the color of the sky, and the color of the water, and
the color of the reflection of what is before me: the color of the ever changing
heart.

do not be upset if you think you cannot take off your own death mantle, your own corpse breath, your own fear. I could never know what that means to you. Whether any of us do or do not is not my concern, only my mystery.

There is always another generation, then,
another life.