by Robert Orr

I yearn for something quite unseen,
Echoing ‘neath the Pleistocene,
The ageless peace of Singularity.

The Big Bang ripped the Temple’s walls,
Spread confusion through the halls
Of otherness and puny-centered selves.

The darkness danced within the Light,
But both have failed to make it right,
This space-time web of absence and regret.

From a dingy corner seat,
Truth cries out: “Behold my feat!
I am here to lead you, as your King.”

The puny-centered selves line up,
Seeking substance from the cup
That Truth holds out with measured dignity.

The choir sings: “We’re free at last,
We’ve risen from our sordid past,
We now can join the ancient harmonies.”

But I hold back, constrained within,
Observing from beyond the din,
Heart contracted, in some faint dis-ease.

I scan the surfaces of things,
And look to see what Tyche brings,
But naught as yet is worth a second glance.

I see reflected in all joys
The hollowness of children’s toys,
The promise ever ebbing into night.

So I embrace this empty core,
Suffusing toward some further shore,
The ageless peace of Singularity.

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