The Beauty of Darkness
The tropical green was a shade of virtues
that had not grown dim, the exotic bronze calls
of the bird of paradise echoed through
the universe, with a tapestry of lights
and shadows revolving as pencil-marked grace notes.
Deep within the stars
of its pattern, were the gems of valor,
dictating the beauty of returning
to home, the softened light, and the fear of emptiness.
Yet death’s requisition!
Aloneness, before their cameo onyx God.
What thistle rooted self in the conscience
of man, a thorn, embedding itself
in human flesh, an unfamiliar pain
and requisite suffering, hollowing
his eyes into a vacant stare, inane,
the trivial, a competition in
improvement—and weakness, avocation.
We decree our ordinance to conserve
all that remains, in one declamation
embodied by the hills we left behind,
the insult hunger, too heavy to change.