Opus 1618

Phillip A. Ellis

Lost, under the stars, I pass
   through wizard dreams of enigmas, seeking
an ageless place beyond the glass

of an ancient ocean, rottenly reeking
   of salt and festering chemicals, and I climb
towards the sky. But is it worth speaking

of the decay I have seen? I don't know; in time
   it may. But the wisdom I?ve sought, the treasure
of a pearl past price, is enough to climb

mountains mighty, mountains past measure. . .
   This is a dying world. It is not well,
and too easy it is to seek alone pleasure,

there?s finite time today, as swell
   entropy's minions, decay and fallow
despair. I aver, certainly, this is a hell.

Although I seek still, a search still callow
   to most avoiding the truths I must face,
although I know my search is fallow,

still I seek. Though the human race
   slowly wanes, slowly passes
into oblivion, I search, and pace

upon a planet dying, with glass
   showing no certain way to go.
Although it seems I live but farces,

no better task or quest I know.

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