Morning brings all of the joy of renewal,
Yet every morning is still a sense of loss.
Nothing can be renewed, revived
Without having lost something.
Each sunrise gave way to the night
That began with a sunset.
Each newborn cry is only the remnant
Of the funeral from the day before.
Yet we go on in oblivion
To what went on before,
Never knowing that there is
Nothing new under the sun.
Yet let the aphorisms flow
For ignorance is bliss indeed
And without it we could never go on
Into that good night
That beats like the hearts
Within our chests, repeating its
Cycle of joy and sorrow.
Right now I live within this cycle
Choosing rejoicing over depression.
But perhaps I’ve gotten to where
I’m not really sure what is
The difference, yet I will rage
Against the dying of the light.
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