Beyond Found

There are two other worlds,
Neither necessary—
Given your attention

Would seem to have enough
Plagues, hunger, storms, and wars
To stay fully engaged.

One world’s always monstrous,
Horrible, and the source
Of horrible monsters,

While the other’s perfect—
Or lushly appointed
As you can imagine,

Lovely weather, good health,
Plenty of food, long lives
Or immortality,

Peace. Your compass needle
Swings wildly as to where
These worlds are located,

North, south, up, down, east, west,
Past the seas, up mountains,
Far beyond the desert,

Or cities, or tundra.
All directions take turns
As the source of angels

Then alien demons,
Fear or serenity.
Why this two-world habit

In so many cultures
With enough going on,
As it is, just to live?

We don’t know. We’re the worlds
You make of us. We know
Just that they’re both monstrous,

Since we are, since words are,
And when shaggy tales claim
Otherwise, they’re still us.