They say life saves the best for last
But that makes life an endless task.
To toil and plead and sweat and bleed
and be the pawn of printed leaves,
For what, I say to all who dare
bring up cliched cute phrases here
to ease the pain of knowing not
what indifference brings to the gold pot
the rainbow falls short of promised fate
And all we can do now is wait.

Today I did not want to go
Into the fire that burns below
But here I am yet once again
To toil in endless mockery
In face of gods I’ve yet to see
I’ve yet to see but here they are
In you in him in those afar
To tell me where I should go next
To point me to an ancient text
That beckons to another place
I cannot see and will not waste
My time to find what is not there
For all I ever want is here
In you in me in those afar
The present gift is living art.