Lace in a baron’s semi-feudal court,
Ancestor distractions of the race.
We have always taken to analysis
But only as an indulgence,
Thought as a delicacy not savored.
Now there are the adventures
Saved and restarted again,
The hope for sequel lives to live.
No distraction is essential
But the screen from thinking
About the universe’s undressing.
We survive and endure thoughtless,
Moments of self-awareness
Manufacture islands of discontent.
They correct our vision too much,
Brining clarity to see the end,
We prefer nearsighted wanderings.
Thoughts of death, if they happen,
Are turned from foreboding precipice
To just another friendly paradigm
Contentment and completism:
Ideologies and religious holding
Us together through our history.
We vested contemplation to power,
To men in monasteries
And those with heirloom thrones.
They too broke from pure thoughts
And had banquets and decadences,
The distractions the powerful afford.
Today we elect our own to a class
We hope finds a distraction
In surviving into the next cycle.
These sideshows can work as long
As someone is doing the business
Of thinking squarely about death.
Friends, my shift has been running
And I have been doing overtime,
But I can’t do it for us forever.
Call up another to take my place,
I want out of all seriousness,
For when we are all not thinking
We will then all surely die.