Chorish

Nothing that’s done can be undone,
But nothing done ever stays done,
Always has to be done again.

So is the past doing itself
Or undoing itself to do
Itself done all over again?

The Earth spins as it has to spin,
Has spun, never undone, again.

Grapes, Sour or Fermented

Of course, everyone longs for the fun
Aspects of success, and of course, none
Covet the damage. Lacking success

Has the advantage of fantasy
And the disadvantage that hunger
Can’t be satiated daydreaming.

Having success? Ask those who would know,
But it seems like any addiction.
Hunger leaves, briefly. Returns. Hurt stays.

Useless Thought Experiment

It would make for an interesting prison,
If life traded reproduction for living
Among immortality obsessed humans.

Start off with eight to ten billion as givens,
Sterilize them but stop nature killing them,
And when they kill each other, resurrect them.

It would take quite a while, but it would sink in.
They are who they’ve got, and no replacing them.
Ten billion’s a big enough number, you’d think,

Now with plenty of years for reinvention,
And no point to fear anyone’s extinction,
And age differences hardly worth mentioning.

This presents imagination the question,
Would they go insane or be contented then?