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These Endless Nights
by William Taylor Jr.

To be human is to be
somehow damaged,
is to exist outside of nature
and have no kindship with it,
to possess the knowledge
of the gods
and no wisdom
to temper it.
The awareness and fear
of death
drives us to strange and terrible things.
There is an evil
brought to life with our
that did not exist
and will not exist
beyond us.
I say evil,
but I imagine
there must be some kind of
beauty in it too.
Strange and terrible,
but beauty just the same.
I tell myself this
on these endless
nights, again
and again;
there must be some beauty in it too.

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