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  • Writer's pictureedwardianjackal

If Naught In'this, Then What Satiates Your Soul?

Naught Your Soul (If/) Then What Satiates In'this...

Overfill (and fill again) your cups with formulae and data

Tis pure, tis true (and you may believe naught else forms itself thus)

Measure and again and you will be vouchsafed and whole

We've succeeded upon it, refined it, cast our computational machines at it

And we are assured, over and again

By ignoble fact and method

"Truth!" is cried

and inside

what echoes


In this formidable, where may a heart allay itself

Passion's play, human wonder, affection's delight

The warmth never found in the disassembling of the universe

Pull apart at its tapestry, and we face the cold

reality of space - unfeeling, impassive, distanced

Assurance or daunting persuade

The immenity is not meant for


Fires cast down upon us from the very seat of Heaven

Assure yourselves in time, as noble creatures are we

that set a pace by the ticking of the clock

from our start until our unknowning end

assure yourselves in need of one another and cast

ourselves for the better face, the caring hands

the loving graces we impart above and here

amongst ourselves

[the beat back beat

of red and black

that when I close mine eyes

and mind entrenched

in this delight]

Let us love, and affect, and allow ourselves the humanity

in an edge that detracts and ciphers instead

let us be here, upon this stage

and not a screen or calculation to be had

breath upon breath

skin upon skin

the very air between us and nothing else

I'll shall bend this and cajole the language

to better match this heart

over time

and thought only of





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