If it is as seems to be
And seems is not a thick mist,
What gives? What flows from this? If
Pests fall on us, if the flesh
Must give, if the odds stay odds,
Long or short, and wear all down,
Then what to make of what is?
There will be no myths. There will
Be no hope this is less real
Than things not seen but most wished.
The fools who shrug and half-grin
It is what it is will win.
No, you say, no that can’t be
How it is or how it ends.
What is is not what it seems.
But what if it is, what then?
