If I’d known that life
is nothing more than wakeful dreams,
it wouldn’t seem so hard to fathom,
so painful just to contemplate,
up until that final date,
that fateful hour when all you knew seems but a trifle,
things once of utmost import
suddenly a piffle,
and you cross over into a better world you know from which
you’ll never want to leave or go
and there you find out you were nothing but an ear
that could barely hear...
One fragment of a sense of many,
like the newest tastebud
on a giant tongue, bud,
Aware of the single flavor
you were designed for
To know one thing only
out of so many more
like viewing the Grand Canyon
with a microscope
and never knowing tea or sake,
cocoa, beer, but only Coke
The slightest fragment of a whole
One tiny krill amidst a shoal
of fish who function as a school
including predators in its pool
And then the things which feed on them
and bigger things which try to hem
them all into a crowded tank
in which we curse and never thank
the God whom needs us all to live
to Him we give
ourselves which is Him giving us.