The Sheer Unabashed Misery of Speculative Fiction
The Sheer Unabashed Misery of Speculative Fiction
It’s a common theme among
Certain kinds of philosophers
That life would have no meaning
If it never ended
Well, it’s not common, really;
It’s rarely ever brought up,
To be frank
Or Celt for that matter
I see things in a different way,
And always have
Due to my double helix
Glasses, tilted raffishly to one side
So I dissent
And dissent again
Which is to say
I pour another whiskey
Getting a drop or two inside
The snifter or me
It’s understandable to consider
An endless life as endlessly meaningless
Though I’d at least like to give it a try
— Not as I am now, of course
I’d have to be young, hale and hearty like a god
Or what’s the blooming pint?
Existential fantasy before breakfast
Before Athena takes my call
—by Douglas Pinson