This Cannot Be a Lie

This Cannot Be a Lie

Could there perhaps be meaning still within
This world where lives are racked with misery—
Where orphans wail amidst the wreckage caused 
By “acts of gods” as well as acts of men?

It seems that much of what we once believed
Was based on dreams and flights of fantasy—
And all that matters in the end is that
Which propagates the genes—or raises yields.

And even these are simply senseless games—
With passing pleasures yielding more of pain.
And all the “noble ends” that we pursue
Are seen as futile through the wider lens. 

******

So all our knowledge will be set to naught
And all our wisdom make no difference—
As planets wheel around their stars—and these
Expend their lives in whirlpool galaxies.

******

And so the cynic in us shrugs and says,
“Why bother with the things for which we lived?
Accept what is—and what in time will be.
Let go of asking what is true—or right.”

And yet the conscience whispers to the heart
And yet the questions come again to mind—
And still, no matter what the reasons be—
We smile at insights—and at actions kind.

How fragile this—the briefly pulsing life 
Of a plant or ant or human—born to die!
And yet, and yet, how precious, touched with joy—
This chance to live—that cannot be a lie.

2023 February 16th, Thu.
Berkeley, California

Typed: Feb 18, Sat., 
on the BART trains from 
Berkeley to Dublin/Pleasanton
Posted: On the 30R bus to Livermore