The Value of a Life

. . . the wellsprings of creative phantasy 
which make life worth living.— Anthony Storr

What makes it worth the mocking 
of what you cannot have,
the fog of what you cannot know,
the mortality of what you love,
the meanness of humanity?

Many say “Love”
but do not believe it.
Others say “God”;
few become saints.
Some say “Humankind,”
but they litter history with corpses.

Then someone gives it a name,
and it shines bright above you,
a lamp of enamel and gold.
Or, far away, it sings,

drawing you down a nave
toward the shadows
of the choir, the carved 
panels above the sanctuary
and the tomb of your fathers.

It is a fairy tale 
you tell yourself in the night
against the treacherous body, 
a broken bell that coughs like a patient
warning you of questions you cannot answer,

against the night flies dancing in the beam
of a weak flashlight
as you walk, from darkness
through darkness toward darkness,
toward a point of light small as a star in the black woods.

_____

Christopher Bernard’s book The Socialist’s Garden of Verses won a PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award and was named one of the “Top 100 Indie Books of 2021” by Kirkus Reviews.