08-23-2013, 04:35 AM
Varieties of Indecision
1.
I have bargained for a mundane life of basic happiness and struggle.
I was given the option of living like a madman or god,
But because I did not make a decision, the decision, wisely, retreated,
Wanting only the unwavering, demanding extraordinary sacrifice,
Passing over the land of men like clouds in the storm,
Rarely, if ever, finding its conclusion with brilliant violence.
2.
Fuck! The boisterous crowd of me,
once committee and once republic,
in the aftermath of a single decision
now riots in the public square.
Someone cries within me:
"Give me the power of a single human being!"
Then, at last, my word would be
like a palm pressing against a torch,
my will would be a signature
among many others in the contract of time.
3.
After my stern declaration I have returned to old ways.
My commitment it seems had been merely political.
How wise it was to promise that things would change!
How ingenious a preservation tactic: to simulate death!
Nothing changes, nothing improves, nothing progresses.
Everything adapts, hides, schemes, conceals, fools.
What happens, moving forward and then retreating,
In the cowardice of all these years, could be called erosion.
From erosionem, "a gnawing away." God created us,
For what? Not to love. To eat us, to chew us.
1.
I have bargained for a mundane life of basic happiness and struggle.
I was given the option of living like a madman or god,
But because I did not make a decision, the decision, wisely, retreated,
Wanting only the unwavering, demanding extraordinary sacrifice,
Passing over the land of men like clouds in the storm,
Rarely, if ever, finding its conclusion with brilliant violence.
2.
Fuck! The boisterous crowd of me,
once committee and once republic,
in the aftermath of a single decision
now riots in the public square.
Someone cries within me:
"Give me the power of a single human being!"
Then, at last, my word would be
like a palm pressing against a torch,
my will would be a signature
among many others in the contract of time.
3.
After my stern declaration I have returned to old ways.
My commitment it seems had been merely political.
How wise it was to promise that things would change!
How ingenious a preservation tactic: to simulate death!
Nothing changes, nothing improves, nothing progresses.
Everything adapts, hides, schemes, conceals, fools.
What happens, moving forward and then retreating,
In the cowardice of all these years, could be called erosion.
From erosionem, "a gnawing away." God created us,
For what? Not to love. To eat us, to chew us.