Line of Demarcation

Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth. - Thoreau

with the timeless music of eternity caressing like the finest silk from china

the flutist and violinist dancing and spinning in rapture

repugnant days littered with the unholy, shattered stained-glass of life

an undeniable ocean of truth cuts through earth like a serrated knife

i puke on the past

choke on the fast-food, drive-thru of the present

and savor a feast of faith for the future

brushing with the spearmint of a promise

forgetting to floss because there is little space between tides in which to expire

the moon will press again tomorrow as it pushes and pulls to try

somewhat obscured as it bathes in sudsy clouds of lye

don't bother nailing my coffin shut

save your rolled-up tube of superglue

i am not there

not in a pine box

this life can have my body

not my spirit too

scrape the rust from beneath grasping fingernails

pile your lies and stacks of money to the sky

i cling steadfast to what they call foolish

not for me but for yourself you cry

doors swing both ways

in life but not the hereafter

pray that my soul will never die

as rain from the almighty falls on everyone and everything

and the sun disappears under a reminiscent horizon with a pensive sigh

.

Author's Note

“Whether he sleeps or wakes, whether he runs or walks, whether he uses a microscope or a telescope, or his naked eye, a man never discovers anything, never overtakes anything or leaves anything behind, but himself. Whatever he says or does he merely reports himself. If he is in love, he loves; if he is in heaven, he enjoys, if he is in hell, he suffers. It is his condition that determines his locality.” - Thoreau

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

This poem is one of your best, Pete.
The paradoxes work so well, mixing the good and the bad, and finally wresting the good away and leaving us with the rotten scent of this present that has just overcome all of us with some stench...
I understand the logic of not closing the coffin...not to bother...
I will have my ashes tossed into a pond in Vermont....they will drop to the bottom and find some piece.
"brushing with the spearmint of promise" is such a great line...I wish I had thought of that one.
j.

[Pete]

sadly and sickly, these mass shootings are becoming commonplace occurrences. now i hear talk on the news of erecting fences around schools. as usual, they treat the symptoms rather than the disease much like closing a barn door after the horse has escaped. there was a stampede at the mgm in vegas over the weekend due to something that sounded like shots fired but was not. between this and covid we are becoming prisoners. sometimes it seems as though we treat the dead better than the living. so many people i talk with seem to feel similarly about life nowadays. just the other day a woman i don't even know said she would like to move to an island by herself. the bottom of that pond in vermont sounds better and better with each passing day ... :)

[Pete]

we must be ever careful of the lines being drawn and of who's drawing them ... :)