Not Alone as with the Culture I Do Contend
The culture ’round me points to streetlights, burning bright,
Telling me, urging me, that those will end my night.
Streetlights… The flickering glow of youth and romance,
The culture insisting I change my hard-won stance.
“Man, why don’t you get a girlfriend? You’re missing out!
You’d be so happy; you’re so weird, a girl without.”
Yet my weary reply comes in a measured way,
“I shall not join thee in thy revelry this day,
For in romantic passion, I gain a dear one,
Yet forfeit my closeness to kin, many million.”
Were I bound in an intimate relationship,
My time with true family would see more hardship.
“For I love to meet people and have adventure,
From strangers on the bus, to old friends who endure,
From sacred fellowship, to exploits less cozy,
I delight in my brothers and sisters; that’s me.”
The culture hugs a light post, beckoning to me,
“But you can have all that, and more, too, you’ll soon see,
Come, come to the warmth of this streetlight, you look cold.
You’re young, a girlfriend would do you good; aren’t you bold?”
But I heed not the culture, looking with longing
To a distant peak, where family is thronging.
“How I yearn for that fellowship! That love divine!
That day when we are one, with joy, a dream of mine.
“There is much work yet to do in this world of pain;
How canst thou talk to me thus, whilst sorrows remain?
Romance would hinder our travails to bring forth peace,
The multitudes from poverty, hunger release.
Am I flawless? Scarcely can that be said truly,
But I desire a better world, which makes me me.”
The culture grows angry now, and still imploring,
“But the body, its functions you were adoring?
Wouldn’t you like – ”
“HOW DAREST THOU TEMPT ME WITH LUST?! THAT WAY LIES DESOLATION, DESPAIR, AND DUST!! HAST THOU NO RESPECT FOR HUMAN LIFE?! YE SENTINELS OF THE CULTURE, STIRRING SUCH STRIFE, INSPIRING IN THE HEARTS OF MEN SUCH DISREGARD FOR THEIR COUNTERPARTS, PAINTING WOMEN AS MERE OBJECTS OF FANTASIES THAT TRUE LOVE REJECTS!!”
The culture snorts and sneers, then looks at the streetlights,
“Hurry! The flame fades, you haven’t long for delights!”
Old age blows through like a sudden, cold winter wind;
The streetlights go out; the culture slinks off to end.
Standing there in the dark, I realize thankfully
I was not, am not, alone, as death comes quickly.
For in my hand I hold a true lamp, candle bright,
As I wait for a distant, yet very near, sight:
The dawn of a new day, brighter than a streetlight,
Whose wonderful warmth and radiance end our night.