The first truth, entered into the breadth of our new born lives, is the certainty of death.
We, being novice livers, are too imbicilic to fathom such heavy prose. This, is what we signed up for.

Those that drew us from pre-life, to pre-death
Are sedated by pheremones of new birth,
Thus forgetting its siblings cutting nature of
Introducing our first breath with an epilogue.
Reserving the pro's to log an arbituary in the
Guest book of a funeral parlour.

All in between is a waste, if not in hastening to
Ready for the day. For whether you Mayfly or
Tortoise the waiting room; according to those left behind, It was "way too soon" even if your 5 minutes was a fully lived life.

You see a mountain now. You see a hill, a mound. You see a boulder, a stone that is bolder than the rocks or pebbles disowned by grains of sand and atom finds. Even they fleet upon writing of scars imparted by their service in time.

Those you see dead, still live to meet death
Though not in morbid afflicted anticipation. They know their roles, and that of deaths, taking the steps and parting lines in wait for their cue to exit stage left.



© Haiych