The world is raging through space,
turning and turning as the consciousness
of it struggles to comprehend, to come
to terms with itself. A house divided,
spinning away from creation.
I have declared myself non-combatant,
a conscientious objector in the battle
of awareness with the infinite abyss.
I have retired to my digs, to contemplation
of conflict in abstraction.
Wishing on a falling star, we have wished
for all of them to fall, to die in a fusion
with our hostile mind and time.
Maybe they were happy to explore
the cold and meaningless Void.
Conflict is attachment and sorrow
and we hold each other here, where
we fight over everything except
the Nothing that matters. We can
give our siblings no relief from shame.
Contemplation makes the room in summer
stuffy and warm. The dust, sifted by fans,
appears like snow on the furniture, until
no one comes to challenge my redemption
through the old screen door.
I am winding down to corruption
but have considered many battles,
daydreams of boredom and horror and glory
and now I find myself at peace.
J. Kyle Kimberlin
Metaphor 