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            The Solar Flare Nightmare

                                          —(a Basement Tragedy in 33 parts)

                         Part One:

"The Morning never Arrived like we wanted it to—

           Perpetually early—

                 and the Night, incomplete—

                          dissatisfied with Ephemerality.

  The Day demands too much from us—

            but we're taught to Fight, to Endure,

                    and so we do,    —but then,

                           we are too tired, for Dreams"

Silent Greetings, then Wait for Tomorrow—

  Unable to Purchase what we've Borrowed

As Previous Lives Fight for the Present,

  Our own Demise, is our Absence.

                            ~

A Song played Backwards, yet still the Same—

  Jumbled Oblivion—the Melody is Wrong—

New Life Enters without Permission—

  As we Laugh to Deny our failing Perception.

                            ~

The Light has long been Dim in our eyes—

  The Spectrum has narrowed across the Sky—

Obligations now emptied of all Recreation—

  Inventions now Posing Personifications.

                            ~

Divine Intervention has left us Stunned—

  From Fear and Truth we will always run!

The Fantastic Arrangement has already started,

  As we willingly stare into the Dying Sun.

                            ~

Our Curiosities—how, they wax and they wane—

  A Celebrated source of Infinite pain—

All Gains are fraught with equal Losses—

  A Natural Talent, in all of us.

                            ~

We've already Lost what we're trying to Find

  And the Void isn't even Partially noticed—

An Answer found, is a slave to the Question

  And we, to the Pangs of Distortion—

                            ~

This Dissonant Symphony of Devoted Emotion—

  Drowning! in the chaos of Idle Commotion—

We want Love to be enough, but never it is—

  Too often it Takes, all that we Give.

                            ~

As we notice the Spot in everything Clean

  As soon as our Eyes are Open—we See!

Yes True Perfection, is Unremarkable!—

  Silent, with neither Ambition nor Intention—      

                            ~  

And once it is Noticed?—Gone forever!—

  Escaping the Reason—the Noise of Existence—

It's by Chance that we Recognize anything at all,

  And Trying, is Crying to Fiction.

                            ~

As we tightly hold on, to all we should not

  For Treasure, for Hope, for selfish  Memories

We Shatter the Sand that made our Glass—

  Expecting even more than Charitable Reprieve.

                            ~

And always expecting some Unforeseen Joy—

  Then shoving it away—to Doubt—Revert!—

Our Plans are ruined by our own Failing Dams

  And the Water is Cold, and we are Submerged...

                            

                                Part Two:

Now what is this Angel?—dark-haired, mysterious?—

  The Moon reflecting off a shimmering Blade's Edge

    Turning Dangerous Rays into calm, soft Flames

      Which through Tired Eyes, warms a cold Heart?—

                            ~

Or perhaps She's the one with a Garden of Stones?—

   Its Statues innumerable from countless Stares

      Into her Deep, Dark, Tourmaline Eyes?—

                            ~

When the Sun throws a random, fiery fit of Rage,

       Do we Humbly bow Down, and to it, —Pray?

                            ~

Are we all just Demigods, spoiled by our own Thoughts,

      ...Desire, forever Cursed, in Exile?...

                            Part Three:

Our History Teaches us nothing New:

  Patterns repeating, Love, then Death—

Fighting to save, fighting to gain—

  The Record is Round, Play it Again.

                            ~

Our Land is stolen, our time is borrowed

  Our Life is destined by our Name—

Our minds are lost in seeking religion—

  Our Hearts know well, it's all the Same.

                            ~

The Sweat of the poor is Wine for the rich

   Empires are built by children and slaves,

Our Waste is seeping in through the Cracks

  Of our Helmet and we're starting to stink.

                            ~

A Jigsaw Puzzle,—we Prescribe it Life—

  We try to Know, we try to Feel,

We form our States and draw our Lines,

  Our Debt assures us that we're Real—

                            ~

We have our Number, we have our Place

  We have our Rank,—we're in the Race!

Running toward that Grand Illusion—

  The Dream was Real!—what's the confusion?

                            ~

The Family? The Government? Abel? or Cain?

  Likely stories keep Breaking it Seems—

Trivial Accomplishments keeping us sane—

  But the One Great Error, is All of our Being.

                             ~

Now we're tired from waiting, tired of wanting

  Tired of Talking, —Here we'll stay!

Let's Drink and Dance and forever be Gone—

  Drunk on the Beauty of Life's Decay!

                         Part Four:

As this tenebrosity creeps in slowly,   unnoticed

      —except for lines becoming blurred,

        lights too bright,    shadows even darker, 

                          details imperceptible,

    windows losing our interest,

                          faces no longer able to smile,

                 and laughter, now, a forgotten 

           bodily convulsion,

                   our attention shifts, 

 to imagining something...something...very different,

            and we are lost in contemplation—

    squinting into the distance

        at that mountain piercing the clouds—

its sight reminding us of something long forgotten—

             forever in wonder,     forever pondering

      the meaning,    and direction,

of it All....—and, 

        in the Heat of the Sun,—

    likewise—also bitterly resentful

                       of its own mortality—propose: 

"Perhaps the High Water Mark

       is too  far  Above  our  Heads...."

            (to be continued)

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