tribute to the poet with a challenge to the word insubstantial

"our revels now are ended. these our actors,
as i foretold you, were all spirits, and
are melted into air, into thin air:
and like the baseless fabric of this vision
the cloud-cappe'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
the solemn temples, the great globe itself,
yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
and, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
leave not a rack behind. we are such stuff
as dreams are made on; and our little life
is rounded with a sleep"

life

and maybe even happiness is all about you doing what you have to do

life is a walk despite conditions

language

can be caustic. even more than a core meltdown.

it is not the night,
it is the moon
that drives the wolves
to the mountain tops.
and it is not
the darkness of the night
that enhances all the moons,
for it is long known that
some even blackout
midday suns.

line

we live. life...
50 or 60 years...
does it matter?
isn't it all the same,
to a closed eye!
looking back,
see years in a line,
all hidden
behind one last breath

ocean

life of missed opportunities
measured with severed limbs
suns, out of reach.
and feelings: too vulnerable
to be exposed to anything but depths
(of an ocean)