The Dying Scientist

“Destroy, destroy us all,” said he
“For we are but aimless creatures
Having evolved too rapidly into
Higher thinking beings.”
“Too rapidly sir?” asked his apprentice
“our evolvement has lasted over a million years.”
“Yes, too rapidly, you fool” retorted he.
“Don’t you know, in universal terms
a million is but the shortness of a childish existence,
a nonsensical spec of time.”

“Send a fireball down to us, o mocking Creator,
For you not care whether we live or die. We are but
Creatures of a controlled study - scientific specimens
In a universal petri dish; fantastical beings, for we think
We matter” the old man heaved.

“But flesh and blood are we - sophisticated germs,
intelligent bacteria, celebrated specs of translucent matter.
Where are you? What are we? Approaching blessed death
more rapidly than the speed of light. Other than that there is nothing
to gloat in.”

“How do we enforce meaning into our lives?
What is and isn’t? What’s rewarded and punished.
O if only I knew that a system of checks and balances existed.”
The old man died, leaving the apprentice behind in a silent room
Dying echoes of the rants of an old, distraught man.

Misty City

Twilight has cast its shadows
Upon the face of the city;
Pockets of darkness intensify
on side streets and lonely alleys

Fog envelopes the atmosphere
Blanketing the air ever so thickly.
A comforting sensation of tightly
woven wool, accentuating a weather
meant to be dreary.

Problems and worries seem so small
in this comforting cocoon
of hallowed mistiness
Encouraging some to be enthralled
Placated by a sudden shift of
November's eclectic fare

Glancing up I see a tower,
the crown of a building soaring proudly
In the mist it appears ethereal
Ghostly, as its lighted top looms through,
piercing the mantle of moisture
hanging transfixed in the sky

Shedding the day's mundane impressions
The city takes on certain enchantment
Lights wink knowingly through a veil of fog.
Mystery and illumination
seemingly buoyant; weightless and unbothered
by the day's drudgery and slog.

Though I am but an insignificant bystander
in this silent, enchanting evening
nighttime intensifies yet adds a touch
of comfort; enriching already swirling sensations
and somehow...
I am a part of it all as well.

Just think its bad luck to delete blogs is all... :-)

***sound of crickets***