We may have been creatures to love and be loved,
Situationally, temporarily, non inherently.
We might have spawned an army of 7 billion without love,
A lustily subjunctive possibility.
Ought we self sacrifice primordial urges and
Confine ourselves to supererogatory purgatory?
Even if we don’t engender lust, our primeval ancestors surely did
Justice to conceiving inter and intra species progeny.
If we hadn’t engendered love, our now extinct parallel species would have
Bred mutations into being, a metaphysical possibility.
If we didn’t engender the wrath of social darwinism, other primates did
Designate unnecessary human death as epistemic necessity.
Who can judge the misfortune of death?
Who is advanced enough in age
To be deemed appropriate to die ripe and old?
To be laid to rest with tears of a life celebrated,
To have a life’s story summarily told.
Is it the 40 year old patriarch of a central African village,
Already the eldest member and the achiever of tribal dreams?
Is is the Japanese centenarian, slipping to the pond by night,
Watering wishes with mind’s still sharp gleam in the light of moonbeams?
Is is the depressed teen girl with only conditional desires
Who threatens suicide without the promise of a rape free future and nightmare erased past?
Is it granny who died peacefully in her sleep or car crash dad driving drunk again?
Is it the homeless boy beat dead in the streets, the thousands in death camps being gassed?
The vet whose insurance ran out before dialysis did, sister stoned for uncovering her head,
Suicide bomber dying for just causes, the loser of life’s deadly race coming in last?
Contemporary Fountains of Youth
They say the end of one’s days
Are a mental stagnation,
The loss of one’s members,
The body’s summation.
Our social salvation.
Life supports yielding
Will strengthen the life force or
Through life education
Prevent brains from knowing
Transforming death with
Is death’s imagination.
It’s only awake when sleeping,
Stagnantly keeping imaginary mobility.
It’s only tasting life while fasting,
Nectar of gods feeds deluded instability.
Only hating its only lover,
Loving the emotional lability.
Living extra extrinsically,
Riding the fastest shadows.
Living unvapidly vicariously,
On metropolitan Thoreaus.
Emotional production parasite,
Vomiting experience summarily,
Or burning off the manic excess
With mental vivacity, voluntarily.
Cynic of metaphysical materialism,
Defying known senses, sneering,
Self declared dystonic iconoclast,
Writhing when forensic fogs start clearing.