No thrift of powdered heavens, narrow passages ‘tween elevens.

mercy is gerontocracy for letters

The sea is always splitting
There is always a wayi
We strive for immortality
But fear its banality

Longing for belonging
And prolonging our lives, grasping
At meaning,
cups overflowing
With anything but something

A hundred years or more we wish
Of life so full we’d never stretch
Denied Pandora her botox’d blush
Her charm-filled box we gravely gush

Agèd skin wears masks of youth
Healthspans hot for so long life
No thrift of powdered heavens
Narrow passages ‘tween elevens

Years rob risk of lionous hearts
Babes beg Hashem for gloryii
Mercy is gerontocracy for lettersiii
So make way, ye pale-eyed forefathers

We dare to join you on the fields of Elysium


  1. via Rebbe Zohar (archived). 
  2. This line might’ve been the title of the poem and the basis for the image at top but “babes” is a mf “banned” word on MidJourney. If you have better text-to-image generators with less absurd limitations, please to leave them in the comments.
  3. WTF does this mean? Ask Chat™:

    This phrase appears to be a poetic or abstract expression rather than a literal statement. Breaking it down, “mercy” generally refers to compassion or forgiveness, and “gerontocracy” is a system of government or rule by the oldest members of a society. In this context, the phrase seems to suggest that mercy acts as a governing force for “letters,” which could represent written communication, language, or even individual words.

    One possible interpretation is that the phrase highlights the importance of showing compassion and understanding in our use of language, especially when considering the wisdom and history embedded in it. This can be a reminder to approach communication with empathy and respect for the complexities and nuances of language.

2 thoughts on “No thrift of powdered heavens, narrow passages ‘tween elevens.

  1. […] of meritocracy Redeemer of fear Master of survival Sorrow of […]

  2. […] Elysium no replacement for champagne, Swim the ocean of powdered pain, Figurative freshness, more moaning, Fewer children, cleansed stone. […]

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