Across the Dark Sea

Did you happen to look up and gaze upon the night

As the fiery nova burst into light across our global sight?

Wasn't it beautiful how the amoebic stellar remnant dimmed

All others and burned in our minds that special curiosity,

Which intermixed so intangibly with an objectless love and seemed

To dance across the eyes of children amending reality

And astronomers conducting study in order to ponder?

Then what is this fretful slumber leaving mind encumbered

Of wondering and wavering doubt and possibility —

That maybe there was culture hence that we see now

As scattered halcyon clouds dissolving our certainty of centrality

And disrupting our drowsy rotation with a silent farewell.

Do these people mean so little to us and me but little fancy

Along with thought and memory of only earthly kind?

Earthly we and less so me, beyond which there is only black sea —

Whom we fear to cross and unlimit empathy from its infernal knot

That this beguiling and tempestuous being carefully wrought.

For this ill-meaning sea seems only welcoming

To destructive worlds of manic Oppenheimer dreams,

Gracefully allowing passage for tantalizing self-destructions,

While silkily so speaking to all we partaking: “that is thee”.

And is it not fairer than Sardathrion’s lonely glee,

Engendering fathomless beauty confined by thorn, sea, and mind;

Doomed to be, perpetually and forever, shuttered by time?

Or perhaps I'm wrong, and this great sea is merely interpreting

My lust for cruelty and happy tragedy like I fear it to be.

But as of yet I do not wish to see bombs neither reaped nor sown,

Rather read the tales of those who loved beyond all known —

Tales that may yet be there in that miasmic poisonous air.

For wonderful things they bear, as here,

And they are gone now and we are getting near.

But my fear, upon this stellar theatre, is not a lack of care,

Rather of communicative disrepair of something never there,

Something not fair, precisely that this black sea will not err.

And that we will never know all of them now gone forever;

Whose structures are obliterated billionthine by meteorites,

And whose forgotten histories traverse the universe as eremites.

For as their homes ground into endless dust like unknown sprites,

Hiding the comfort they once offered, we still float unaware

Of the lost gods of worlds unknown who will hear no more prayer.

Plainly, I do not prescribe love with any grand meaning,

Choosing rather to sneer at its snakeoil veneer we’re wont

In painting over all life’s questions as if any doubt debasing.

But caution said, my hope is not shred, and it is a friendly fount

To believe, were we all strewn about, dead completely

In present and history, someone far away is at least conceptually daring,

And vainly sending their love sailing across the dark sea prevailing,

With the message that they believe we're here and they would care

To learn of our great place, were it in disrepair — as those up there.

And we, as children armored from toe to chin in blankets

And with eyes beaten’d red by the slow dark we hide,

May only attempt, only try, to comprehend such a lie;

That their love and ours may float unimpeading

Across dark waters unabiding, and warm each other’s hearts

Beyond nepenthe and into benevolently conspiring empathy.

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