To Life Death,

 

Lacking sleep, food, and will I am

coaxed into movement by the soft voice of life.

My oft-cited realms of self-persistence

croon lullabies to my own resistance.

Quelling its deference to you and
prolonging its sleep.

Moss betrothed to rock I walk the night

overlooking the light of a valley.

Green machines of nature fester and multiply to encapsulate the echoes of man

suffocated by his own hand.

Hand in hand with death, I look out over the scope of reality;

the beauty, the futility.

How subtle the glow of life eluding my home,

yet standing in front of me here.

To walk on to the stage of nature and sing its swan song

as it all comes to an end.

My friend, it is only a matter of time before the curtain will drop

and the light will blacken

all mirrors that may reflect my mind.

To lay in the valley of the coddling festivity of existence.

Too short is my time here, but too long is it elsewhere.

To fall is to die and to die is to end the beauty

that life can provide.

Nature incarnate in the trees, the grass;

lost are our stiffened sentences

and stiffened are our ornate glances.

We assign beauty yet no sense of place.

We wallow in the mud of constructed grace.

Thinning our skin and filling our minds

We seldom point out that we’re wasting time.

Fifty-odd years of some reality show

To sacrifice so much

to see what we know