A Ottava Rima is a poem written in 8-line octaves.
Each line is of a 10 or 11 syllable count in
the following rhyme:
one octave poem. abababcc
two octave poem. abababcc, dededeff
three octave poem. abababcc, dededeff, ghghghii
…so on and so on
Amazing homeostasis defies
entropy, seemingly with thoughtful change.
Through positive and negative replies
to stimuli it locks into a range.
A cell no more thinks than a piglet flies.
Ours try for constant Ph to arrange.
Each does its stupendous job then it dies.
With no need to fret where its future lies.
All instructions are D.N.A. coded,
as is their time to “die”, then they’re replaced-
or not. A mountain grows then’s eroded,
while vapor turns to water being chased
through mountains cracks; more rocks are exploded,
Sometimes this cycle seems to be a waste.
Yet, waste or not it will play to the end.
That sir, is how my life will work, my friend.
Man’s invented God since men could converse,
for death was never obscure- purpose was!
For most all, life was hard and they feared worse.
Hence gods were wrought to whom to plead their cause.
I’ve actualized myself though time is terse.
I’ve lived, live yet, and require no applause.
Life’s tiller needs no Maker’s mighty hand.
His role fulfilled with big bang, on demand.
Those faith imbued may feel for me as I
so feel for them, saddened they’re not complete.
“They’re in a better place” will comfort my
peers – not I. “They” must mean souls, not discrete
tokens. Those souls pre- and post- life rely
on no puppet master, on no hymn sheet.
If soul there be then soul there is right now,
and will be then continuing, somehow.
(c) Lawrencealot – May 28, 2012