Ecclesiastes Now

Ecclesiastes Now

And with the wind, a lost fixation
almost drawn unto my breast
will dress upon its memory
a self-inflicted pain to cling to--
a shred of life preserved in crystal
as unknown potential, seen
with that unseeing eye
embracing grief as nourishment
and resolute as death.

And with the wind, defining too
will cling to sadness, letting go
of source to cherish an emotion
needed, vague as Renoir's retina
to score humanity. A world set right
is wrong; pursuit of vanity the light
that shines upon another face of God.
~