In this one small act
-- miniscule, undetected by almost
everyone --
there is the end of the world
A heartbeat steady and sure, stopped
by an unseen hand
vibrations stilled
the silence echoing through
a suddenly empty skull
I wish that I could hear what some might say should pass
for reasons why.
In this, there is no vast beyond, no other side;
the existence thereof is inconsequential
anyway
when one is there
and one is here
In the night sounds, I sit waiting
to hear the low thud of a string plucked,
reverberating
Nothing
Just the high-pitched sounds of ignorant, lucky things
with wings.
We are reduced in this to nothing more than the first thing that we knew
I am three years old and watching
my father melt into my mother
the universe closed in around them
I could feel it then, the nothing
the curtain coming down, closing off the reality
of permanence
the shape of letting go.
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Throws the fragility of life into sharp relief. Wonderful
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