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David Berman

And the Others

Some find The Light in literature;
Others in fine art,
And some persist in being sure
The Light shines in the heart.

Some find The Light in alcohol;
Some, in the sexual spark;
Some never find The Light at all
And make do with the dark,

And one might guess that these would be
A gloomy lot indeed,
But, no, The Light they never see
They think they do not need.

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The Ultimate

When dreams have turned to dust and dust to slime;
When all you ever were or hoped to be
Appears as no more than a jest of time,
A foolish jest, a tasteless parody

On some unlikely fiction; when not just
Your dear pretensions but your best ideals
Have been ground down into an acrid dust
That you are forced to eat for all your meals;

When—oh, but what can metaphor provide
Sufficient in its scope to comprehend
The fury never to be satisfied
Of one betrayed by a once-trusted friend?

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The Broken Mirror

My life is almost over; that's a fact
Statistically derived but simply true;
I look into the mirror, but it's cracked

And so reflects two, three, or more, that lack
Cohesion. Which one's goal shall I pursue—
My life is almost over; that's a fact—

In time remaining? Luggage largely packed,
Past boxed and crated, little left to do,
I look into the mirror, but it's cracked

And won't be fixed and always did refract
The one before it into at least two.
My life is almost over; that's a fact,

But life cannot be lived in the abstract
And begs for certainties that it once knew:
I look into the mirror, but it's cracked;

[...] Read more

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