Soliloquy

The darkness may, nay, must be contemplated,
But worshiped not; to idolize the not is to bow
before a false idol.

But darkness, being the ground of being
must be accounted for.
Before any stroke be struck, before any inkling
penned, ere any word is sound.

Every gesture only has significance against a field
which shows its ultimate insignifance.
And so, in futility, in kick-prick furor, in foibled foist
can anything be said to have been.

The black-ground nothing, the white canvas,
the empty stage, the silent space, the blank page,
All call for some screech against
the noughtness of being.

All art claws against the coffin lid.
A silent scream against the plight.
A tiny spark against the night.
How so this all again.

But up against that ground how glows soever
faintly
Some glimmer of those insignificants
who passed this way.
[And scene].