Tuesday, December 8, 2020

Beyond Our Trails (Requiem for Ozzy)...

Walked each day in our own way
Watched your little hairs turn gray
However old we did become
I swear much more should still have come
But here it is, this trail that ends
And here you'll rest, as my heart pretends
that in some time this wound should mend

The mortal part is gone
and I can't preserve it with this song
I'm only left to stumble mournfully along
with merely memories to carry me beyond
these trails of our most treasured bond

In solitude I'm stalked by sorrow 
with a loss that follows each tomorrow
But in all our trails, much more was found
that no legends told could ever expound
upon the triumphs of our stamping ground
And though my hollowed heart seems failing
Our exultant past will inevitably be prevailing

The mortal part is gone
and I can't immortalize it in any song
I'll do my best to stumble on
with treasured memories to carry-on
the remnants of our enduring bond

Alas, here I must leave your soul to rest
and tell your ghost "You Were The Best"
and even though we're parted here
I'll hold our memories forever dear
that they may keep us both however near
I will take these remnants with me everywhere
Beyond our trails, I will wander on with care
not to fully miss you anywhere

For Ozzy, Prince of Dogness, Best Beast Ever, Legendary Wild-Man, Devourer of Chicken, Slayer of Rats, Defender of His Territory, Foremost ConquistaDog and Conqueror of all enemies that dared to cross his path, Inventor of the mythical "double-jump", Rumble-Master Extraordinaire who played many ball games exceeding three water-up pup super cool-down-dips, the little dog that lived larger than the world was grand, and did it all with more style than any other entity I've ever known.



Wednesday, December 2, 2020

Waiting... (For The Eschaton)

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With a bang and not whimper...
A voice of slamming fists
revolted, rhymes the lists
of litanies that taunt to temper
This illness reveals another sickness
which no immunity can but witness
These masks, they mask no malice
Both coughs and scoffs so callous
What prisoners police this place?!
Where quarantined is any grace?!
In this world of wrath and ill
one ancient universal skill
one wrathful violent will
makes all intentions kill
What gawd is there to call upon?
What light remains for any dawn?
As all weary rage is waiting, scathing, waiting...
Waiting for the eschaton...

With a whimper, not a bang
Sorrows' song of psalms is sang
How long here must we suffer?
Will there ever be enough or...
are we damned to lament and linger,
our lives pinned under a middle finger
At the whim of fools and fate
all are made slaves unto the state
where fear fuels so, so much hate
and this hate, it cannot wait
to purge these pains with tears
or screams to burst all ears
All words are pronounced as jeers
Such sinister sounds enunciate the cheers
when all desire is to make things gone
Silenced, voices sing no final song
as all rights suspend to cancel wrong
Hasn't this all gone on too long?
As sadness is stranded waiting, unabating, waiting...
Waiting for the eschaton...

With no bang, and with no whimper
Even-toned ensconced mouths simper
Hell, it always could be worse
Things have always been adverse,
but it's all just obstacles to traverse
Even these plagues aren't such a curse!
It will all just go to show
how much we've yet to know
In the end, undoubtedly we'll see
there's plenty beyond these ends to be
We'll rise to stumble incessantly along
in this ultra-marathon unto the pantheon
As the existential echelons usher-on headstrong 
all of us just pawns continually perpetuating, vacillating, 
waiting, waiting, and waiting...
Waiting for the eschaton...