In the Face of Death

This situation isn't existential
But religious, holy and dramatic,
Not so circumstantial, more emphatic,
Drought becoming rain, dark and torrential.
You're sure it's nothing short of providential
That in the face of death you've been ecstatic
Yet contained. You feel so democratic,
Which may be pleasing, but it's not essential.

We stubbornly remain in this dimension,
Blessed with certainty, a smattering
Of data that we claim, by flattering
And soothing, will release our built-up tension,
Carrying us through untold dissension
Smartly, and through all this chattering.