Circumstantial Sadness Poem by ed purchla

How much does the sadness
In this precious moment,
A crossroads between the
Undeniable hope that gives
Fragile structure to our ecstasy,
And the last breath that we will breathe,
Compare?
[            ]
Circumstantial sadness,
So easy to define, only fades
As each attempt to self-analyze
Washes away like eventide,
Forcing one left to understand loneliness
From that first screaming, covered
Still in mother's blood,
To the heart no longer able to
Facilitate this failing system,
Entropy that tiptoes
avec clickety-clickety heels
Atop the wooden floor
Shellacked with our species'
One universality, accumulating
Exponentially, showing its face
When one can't fight it away,
When one can't convince ourselves
Anymore, of the imaginary answers
We've all come to believe and
Kill each other over.
[            ]
Circumstantial sadness
Once again creeps up behind,
Tapping on the shoulder and
Whispering sweet memento mori,
Asking, not telling,
If the writer understands
There can be no revisions
Of such sentences already written,
No research to be done for what is to come,
Only one more path to carve ahead—
Barring any 'bare bodkin' which sits sharp
In commonality's sheath,
Fostering a message anyone can read,
Instructions as to one's quietus—
That which can achieve its goal,
Or perhaps beckon the tapping finger
To bless with gentle allusion
That such strife bears but one effective medicine,
Which might be the only one
To leave the belly aching, or jubilant tears
Streaming, in a happy state,
Now furthest from such seriousness.