The Modernist Condition

The Tragedy

of Our

Existence
 

Is not that

Life

is Short
 

And its

Meaning

Inscrutable
 

But that We,

whose Highest

Need
 

Is but To

Huddle
 

Can so

let

ourselves
 

Be

deluded
 

That we are,

in the

Modernist world
 

Living

Unrequitedly
 

*

Entrenched

In Tasks

we loathe
 

Engaged

in rites that

Mean Nothing
 

Giving Fealty

to specious

Idylls
 

Dissipating

precious

Time
 

Ingratiating

Others
 

And Powers

that

Should Not Be:
 

*

Kept apart

from
 

What/whom

we love
 

Squandering

Vital

energies
 

Vying with

Those

Equally Wrought
 

In Dubious

Struggle(s)
 

That amount to

Less than

Nothing
 

*

And all the

While
 

Like a

Muffled Chorus
 

In the far

gloaming
 

The Sacred

River of Life
 

Murmuring

Sweet Enticements
 

Meanders

on –
 

Eager ,

racing,

To dissolve
 

In the dank,

sodden,

Estuaries
 

Of ever

hastening

Decline
 

And nameless,

Unmarked

Dread
 

In the

brooding

Backwaters
 

Of the

Ominous

Sea
 

*

There is no

Panacea

Save to

Capitulate

to Love
 

Of that

we cannot

help but love
 

Soon as we

find It
 

Cling ,

adhere,

nay Clench
 

In hoops

of burnished

steel
 

Abandoning

all distraction
 

Despite

the ravening

Wolf

at the Gate
 

And the

hovering

Vulture
 

In the

churning

skies
 

*

Their bite,

their sting
 

Is not so

keen
 

As Life

frittered
 

In Sysiphian

gather of

faggots
 

To stave

encroaching

Winter
 

Day after

Unavailing

day
 
*
 

‘Tis the Heart

that must be

warmed
 

The Soul

that must be

fed
 

The Spirit

that must be

succored
 

*

We survive

slings

and shot
 

Misfortunes,

calamities
 

But not the

peerie

achings
 

Of the

Yearning

Heart
 

And the

stifled cries
 

Of the stricken

Soul
 

*

There is no

Anguish

greater

Than Spirit

benumbed
 

by love’s labors

lapsed –
 

*

So steady

on,

Fond

Traveller
 

In this

confuting
 

Unchartable

Land
 

Find the

Right

Rudder
 

Not minding

the frothing

current(s)

below
 
*
 

Most Tests

and

Trials
 

Get

Absolved
 

When you Move

in Kindred

With your

Master

Spirit
 

The Lodestar,

Lamp,

and Pathfinder
 

*

We were forged

to Live
 

In Affinity,

not Discord

In cognate,

consanguinal,

Communal Kinship
 

Close to

our

embedded
 

Anchoring

species-being
 

That fires

our Anthropic

Flame
 

In this

Delphic

Realm
 

And lends

Healing

Solace
 

To the

fulgent

ravages
 

Of parching

Day
 

And the

Phobic

Disquiet
 

Of that

ever so
 

Phantasmagoric

fearful
 

And petrifying

Stairwell
 

That descends

to nether

reaches
 

Of Endless

Augural

Sepulchral

Night
 
*
 
Love

Alone

Indemnifies
 

Against the Scylla

of Chance

and the Charybdis

of Chaos