Whining

Whining

How came I to this place, this endless space,
this long, long moving? What evil angel
perched on the edge of my mother’s womb
and sucked all hope of joy from my soul even
as it was becoming to Be, and what Benevolence
reared in righteous anger to the rescue?

Speak not of eternity’s plan; myth is little
comfort to martyrs without leave.
Better the justice of random chaos
than evil for the common good.
Chaos pretends to be nothing but self.

May 22, 2001

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About elrondsilvermaul

I never know what to say about myself. I let what I write try to speak as to who I am. I can only add, here, that I am 72, live in a nursing home, am twenty years a cancer survivor, and identify as a gay male. I intend to use this blog as storage for poems? written over the long years (and still being written). This does not preclude other uses.
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