The sleep of the damned
by
Wicked Enchanter
I live in the world of the damned,
Floating through a sensate universe,
Following a path of observable truth,
And I'm happy.
No demons dog my footsteps here.
Evil exists, but it flows
From the same well of human passion
As goodness.
Goodness thrives here, nurtured
In the hearts of good people,
And even in the world of the damned,
Good people abound.
No eternal truth is spoken here.
Natural laws are a constant,
But perception rises
On the tides of understanding.
In this, the world of the damned,
Men of science follow the evidence
Wherever it leads,
Even when it leads them away from belief.
This is the faith of the damned,
True faith, bearing calmly
An acceptance of the unknown
In a commitment to truth.
When I die, I will sleep the sleep of the damned,
Expecting nothing,
Redeemed by nothing,
Cursed by nothing.
To this, the sound sleep of the eternal, I surrender.
I'll be damned!
I am happy!
Tuck me in for that long night
by
Wicked Enchanter
I've been thinking today of tomorrow,
But it seems that "ever" may never arrive.
I put no stock in the promise of heaven;
I'll just take what I get, while I'm alive.
As midday approaches, a desert encroaches;
The wind slowly gathers the dunes.
On the stones of the dead, plaques lie unread—
Smooth, indecipherable runes.
The moldering bones of those lying alone
Have nothing further to say.
All that remains are the blots and the stains
That color the annals of yesterday.
Nothing will last past the next generation,
Regardless of what you believe—
For when husbands and wives and children are gone,
No mourners will gather to grieve.
So build me no monument after I'm dead;
Bring no gilded priest to read specious rites.
Just tuck me into that comfortable bed,
And leave me alone for the rest of the night.
