It takes just two people to bring the world
to ruin. So goes the history of love.
At the end of the day, we tally the casualties
of war, a victory for the one who gets wounded the least.
You say it’s time for a change
but I don’t know to what end, change being
just the skin of some incandescent creature
whose grotesque beauty is what we adore, whom some people call love, whom we
venerate because it consumes us, slim pickings
for its huge soul.
My people say, don’t look
or you’ll go blind. You say the end was always just around the bend. I say all we have
is unconditional surrender to the future.
So unreliable is the past that I feel compelled
to leave unmourned the blind, relentless loves that may have scorched into our hearts
the way the saints accepted stigmata.
But I’ve heard the world’s never going to end.
I’ve heard it will go on and on, and we will live forever, our lives
not worth a footnote, our grandest schemes no more than feeble whispers, all memory
shifting like the continental plates.
In the future,
all science will finally come around; genetic
engineering, I’ve been told, will be all the rage,
and we will be a super race in a world
infallibly perfected, where trains run on time,
love never dies, and hope can be purchased
by the pound. It’s called immortalization of the cell lines.
But it’s insanity, in fact, it’s frivolous
The truth is, we are not immortal,
we will never be, so we must decide for ourselves
to either believe crazy or the truth..
© Benjamin Lessard – TheBenLessard