Great Gluttonous Death who spares not beast or man,

Indeed my time is one so much delayed;

For can it be that ‘pon this earth I span

The endless breadths, and yet shall be betrayed?

And yet I say, “What makes a man so sure

That his demise is not a breath away?

What guarantees that if he wakes, so pure,

That thus he has been given all the day?

For as for those who’ve met their sudden end,

Did they greet dawn and know no night would come?

Had not they plans and dreams and years to spend,

Then swiftly did they dirt and bones become?”

And so I wake, and ask myself this day:

“Will my day meet its night, or night its day?”

2008

Here’s to the starving multitudes—

Those fed with hunger, clothed with icy winds and stifling heat,

Slapped with shattered hopes and disparaged dreams,

Kicked with the scorn of an end so distantly near;

Here’s to disasters, calamities, catastrophes, deaths,

Rapes, plague, disease, dismantled homes,

Endless tears, oppressive grief, and miracles;

To polluted consciences, passive gods,

Confounded morals, dead virtues,

Outdated scriptures, and the will to believe;

Here’s to the strain of a thousand burdens,

To endless work, fruitless labors, sardonic struggles,

Aimless jobs, and a child’s laughter.

Here’s to a cruel, criminal, crude, and crumbling world

So filled with hope.

2013