Outer Dark '13 (a poem)

Here on tomorrow’s shorelines
by oily breakers taken,
the self wanderlusts, sets sails
from naught to none, from dreams
awakened—

Then just as for all the games since
forfeited and they’ll still remember,
for every restless Summer night
there will always dawn a gray
September—

Still, on tomorrow’s shorelines
by gale and hurricane shaken,
you close your eyes, look back
and all that you see, well, just you try
not to hate ‘em—

For behind a pantomime of cinders
there might reign one last scorching ember,
and in the end there is no race,
but a downhill slalom straight into
the gas chamber—

Hence to the victor, the spoils,
but those bittersweet, unearned,
uncalled for and unavoidable,
just like a soul-searing  kiss
from Satan.