THE AGE I’M IN


The age I’m in turns my head about full circle
Sets me to tasks multiple in static time and frenetic pace
Its about clicking boxes and staring at light-space boards
Given to logical forms, algorithmic sense, geometric thought
Rational reductions, cardinal creeds, all modernists’ espoused rules
Its a world of straight science and relative morality
And the trees, though alive and standing, will sway to your eyes’ pleasure
As long as you speak not of a living, Almighty, right and firm
There, you’ll be suddenly silly, wanting decent intellect

The streets are a colourful pastiche of persons, posts and painful pangs
The avenues lined with streaming styles, neon lights, destitute lads
Sky lines, black ground, middle space claimed by in-between movements
All the fight to keep alive
All the fight to keep on fighting
All the flurry to be chanced to flaunt comfort
To be uninhibited by shame whose face is penury
I wonder what they find after all
Pleasure then, is sought in brighter joys where family picnics in fields
Or in infidel dark sides, where desire trumps trust, where lies are wise
In the defrauding of the masses, in the brutal tragedies, in cursing rants
As has ever been
The scraps slap sour, render self-made morals surreal
No matter how long the infinite hark is ignored
Truth stands, and changeable morals change and fade and disappoint
What use is there of creating your life’s meaning
Don’t you, the driver, admit being driven by elements, mere material, no one’s signature?

I have seen the fantastic things that ease our days a bit
The creations of our time, from minds in good motion
They are fine and fit for applause
But not the bland whack of situational gymnastics
Not the pretense of showing off fancy living rules, just to avoid God
Your feigning free-for-all naturalism is practising slavish blindness
Better option: Give in to life unbound by circumstance
God, timeless, immanent, Lord of constant order, gives this certitude

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