Spread deep beneath these veiling thoughts
Twists the tangled vine of I,
Rooted in the darkest depths,
Where saints and monsters lie,
All tangled with each other, even as I die,
Whose roots are sunk in ancient times,
When first we sat before the flame
And talked in wonder of the world,
Of our sorrows and our shame,
And so began our futile quest for gods to share the blame,
That led us, as though blinded,
up that shrouded, misty peak
where Illusion’s understanding,
made mad those who dared to speak,
with spells and incantations, the truths we all did seek,
We stare into a vast unknown,
we’re a million years too late,
have come no further than the caves,
though Lucretius tried to set us straight,
on our origins and fate,
of the riddle of the universe,
that with us became aware,
of existence as a solitude
the very gods can’t bear,
and so invented us, we say, their loneliness to share.
But, my time has run, the lights are dimmed,
I take position on the stage,
to play at last the denouement,
some say was written by a sage,
who stained with tears his each and every page.
One Voyce of the World 
Thanks Christopher, I saw an exhibit last year at MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) with artists like Douglas Coupland. One display stayed with me. It said, ‘ The opposite of empathy used to be indifference. Now it’s shaming.’
Meanwhile, I’ve posted another blog: http://www.dmwootton.com Please visit.
Donna
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Thanks, I wish I was as prolific a writer as he is 🙂 I shall visit.
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Christ, clicking the link I see a rather solemn work of art without any explanation. Any comment? Erika
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Not sure why you are not seeing the poem-no one else has had that issue, maybe try again: https://christopher-black.com/2020/10/27/the-denouement/
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I have no idea why that is: try the link again?https://christopher-black.com/2020/10/27/the-denouement/, Chris
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