the poets who proudly point
to the faith-shaped hole
they so nobly fail to fill.
They sigh and shake their heads,
Holes are full of emptiness
they say, and then, world-weary,
turn to the tired trivia
of another day's distractions.
The worst are filled with zeal;
the best struck with ennui,
and before pretending with politics,
they discharge disdain
and condescension
into their void.
That's life.
Thank God there's no final
failure, no end, only delay.
I pray the vastava-vastu
fills their gaping space today.
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