This World Never Came into Being

This world never came into being,

never shed a tear in the purity of the night,

never blossomed with bird song,

never pierced our hearts or left us unsatisfied,

never fell into madness,

never burned,

nor left the ash to blow in a final and unknowing wind.

Thus we slip and find no foothold,

amid this thirst for all things,

for sea journeys and cosmovision,

and hard sex hard atop a heap of corpses,

scratching symbols in the dust,

and naming children after kings,

breaking off branches as we reach for their fruit.

Thus also we are in glory,

and meet no impediment on this all-reaching road,

arranging flowers for way shrines,

swearing brotherhood amid the scheming of the marketplace,

laughing, and throwing the dice.