Zombies-version 1

Zombies (version 1)

There comes a time when treasures turn to dust,
And we have lost our passion and our lust.
Then what we do, we do as zombies might—
Or robots—not from choice, but since we must.

What acts or words or thoughts can break that spell—
Release us then from that robotic hell?
We ask that question, with the ardor left
That will can muster, in our souls bereft—

Bereft of purpose, shorn of meaning’s might,
And so of all the vigor these had lent,
And lacking vision, robbed of thought and sight,
As husks that know not where their kernels went.

We ask the question, as a prayer, plea—
A pleading for permission, yes, to see—
To find the insight, and the foresight then—
The wisdom, as a presence, still to be.

But then, we might at times remember this—
Those moments scant, retrieved from memory—
Those instants past of pure, essential bliss,
When walls dissolved, and pain had ceased to be.

What presence then, except that sense divine—
That scent of joy, as if of fragrant wine—
That essence that is still within us, though
It’s hidden, where we zombies do not know.

2018 May 22nd, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York