Syllogisms of the Spirit

Internal Eden! I’ve herb’d thee since eviction without will. 

When the grand darkness comes, it will envelope with purséd lips, 
Inflated cheeks, swearing awful things, and as it’s near to lick its seal,
This breed of eschatology will end me laughing. 

This night is specied with which abyss? the one that with shadows teem
Or that’s seamed with Nothing’s spleen?

Life! Life everywhere! Upon the crest, within its dip, digging to deepen, fearlessly, the pit, 
And Life as tense as level. 

Truth is young at heart and dies quickly past its infancy.

Trust the rough and elemental.


Published by Shane Brant

Las Vegas high school teacher.

Leave a comment

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: