There is no composition

Without decomposition

We break down

Broken down by fates and whims

The sun shines

The wind howls

The rain falls

The rotting and decay

Spirits falling and flagging and flailing

Components revealed

Bleached bones of old structures

Half buried by what used to be


Our youth


Our pride


Our strength

Molecules become atoms

Reforming into new molecules


All the material at the ready

For composition

We write our stories in time

One decision after the next

Seeds splitting open to sprout

Recombining the secret patterns

Into glittering webs of life

We sing hope into the sky

Bright streams of glorious light

One note after the next

A chorus

A melody

A symphony

From that pain and joy

Wringing something new out of the earth

Until we are so far away from the detritus

That we forget

Have forgotten

That it was born from utter destruction

Of what had been

Broken down through time

Rocks became rubble

Oceans rose and fell

Fires flamed and fed

We turn

We turn

We turn to stone and

When the butterfly lands

On our shoulders

We return to life

To grow and glow and shine

Hearts open and eyes bright

The Old Gods and The New – Daily Poem 11/17/2020

The old gods and the new

Don’t care about your happiness

Not in the way you think

They’ll drown you in despair

While they sit and have a drink

They’ll give you tragedy and strife

Just to build your strength

When your strength has reached a peak

They will leave the strong to crumble

Watch it fail and see you weak

Make your plan

Till the fields

Some years of famine

Some years of yields beyond all measure

The old gods and the new

Don’t care about your discontent

Not in the way that you imagine

They’ll send you seeking treasure

And riches you will find

Then send you searching after love

On a quest for the Divine

Then they’ll rob you of your gains

Shake loose all confidence

No security remains

Every boon that you will find

Will be removed upon the whims

Of the old gods and the new

Stand you there with nothing

Poor and loveless

Destitute of mind

Stand you there without a thing

To call your own

Praying to the new gods and the old

But they’re in a game of checkers

So, you see

You’re on your own