The Enkindled Spring

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.


I’m not sure what my ethics are. I’m not sure I have a moral compass. I’m sceptical of people who do. Certainty appears to be built on moral absolutes, and I don’t see how you can claim that ‘rights’ exist.

Given this, I’ve abandoned any moral prescriptions I thought I had. I’ve also abandoned whatever political/philosophical labels I thought I once fell under.

I have to be content to swim in a sea of uncertainty for the time being.