Quiet Gods
amidst big skies
are hidden from
our view by clouds
and science and un-
believing eyes that
melt on glass accepting
light only on demand
and the trees mourn our
loss but can do nothing;
their sticky fingers wave
helplessly in the moonlight
of a clear winters night
where souls starve in
apathy and bodies grow
in obesity and the general
welfare of man kind is
put on the back burner until
we become comfortable with the reality
of Death breathing down our
necks.

And, in reality, we
never will be, until we’re
dragged kicking
into the darkness and
screaming into the night
succumbing to obscurity
and accepting defeat.

                AcB        11.28.98