Heroic Journey Into Darkness Poem by Gary Witt

swirling death marbling our lives
does not approach us from the front
but from the side, from our inside;
mortar of our mortality mixing,
blending a subtle insinuation
of interstitial doubt that first expands,
then contracts, a freeze-thaw cycle
that cracks our resolve, makes
cowardly our attempts at heroism,
asks who is braver than angling death
we pretend not to see, as we walk
from the matter of our lives;
pretend that our lives matter,
that we fight and transform in cosmic
or comic blossoming followed close on
by disease and decay, with or without
the condiment known as madness:
pretend to pretend we do not see,
we cannot hear the roar of time, razor sharp
against one’s cheek, the hum of hormones
seeping from glands tired and drawn: Life
a withering biochemical mirage that glistens
against this dark background of fear, and entices
us as mendicants to reach, urgently,
not for greatness, but for a medication
joyfully numbing, serenely exhilarating.