Bed

4am and wide awake
in deep dark light.
4am and burning
in deep dark night.
A black-hole soul burns,
a wide eyes gaze, to see,
no hope inside this maze,
of dead ends.

It feels all explored,
all the ends feel dead
but they are not, for
feelings are romantic.
Romantic.
Pass the laundenum overdose.

For the atheist realist,
there is no rational hope.
One's escapism must be in history's arms,
the lives of part artists
who could not see their light.
We must see ours and cling to its weak warmth,
in love,
to each day do our best,
shine our heart to the cold dark sky above.

The genius is forever alone,
in mind in soul, inside.
It is in this place, this crucible
where the heart of pi resides.

I saw the last digit of pi today,
burning at the end of time and space,
flickering a tiny hello
from a place of pure beauty.
There is a lens that makes all of its digits one.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.