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Contemplations of The Ending of Life (Poem)

If it is not quite so strange to think
Of an abyss into which one may sink
At any one moment in time
Then let it not be so strange to think
Of an exit door which one may open
To the exit from an abyss
At any one moment in time
And let it not be so strange to see
That there is not a morsel of living yet to see
That there is no longer a place for one such as me
Within your so-called strange society
At any one moment in time.
And when the rose is dead
Its petals a pale – nay, pathetic red
Its stem no more stern than a fine cotton thread
And when the living of life has departed its being
And when there remains sight but not any more for seeing
And when there stand ears but none for hearing
And when being, alone, inflicts an agony near-searing
And when there lies a nose but bereft be it of the odours for smelling
And when there exist ponderings of a sale but no goods for selling
When there is life to be seen but
Gone is all living
Then one’s very being itself is rendered useless.
Then let it not be so strange to think
Of an exit door which one may open
To the exit from an abyss
At any one moment in time
Still do I say
That I will stay
And stay I must
Though no longer may I ever possess a lust
For life
At least I am here
You may no longer exist in fear
Of my departure
From your life.
But though I speak of my fortune
In remaining alive
Fortune I will never possess
Never shall I thrive
Only
In your mind
In your dream
In your fantasy
Shall I ever in truth survive.
Though I may show
Seeds I plan to sow
In the seeds is no life
For they died long ago.
Not but a chance
Nor a fleeting glance
Of the life they would never
Experience.
So I remain in your eyes
And I restrain all of my cries
For a key to the door to the exit from my own
Abyss.
For in my own mind
I cannot resist - - -
Never have I been so eager
To desist.
But continue I must until such a time
As I may be permitted to exit the mime
Thunder-silent be it
As not stand do I but sit
Atop the ledge.
Too cowardly even to stand for his fate
- The eulogy of a life ended far too late
Which perhaps should not even have begun
Born under the moon; now friends with the sun
Or not.
For it is all nonsensical
For I only would rot
In a box
For all of time.
But more
That door
To the exit
From the abyss
Would only lead from ice to fire
Only deepen my mirth in the mire
So I can not
Go.
Stay I will
But still
I cannot say
That on this day
I was right
To stay.
Perhaps to fray
To flounder, astray
To slip back to the grave in which I lay
Prior even to my death
- Which has not yet occurred
In your eyes –
Perhaps this would have been
A better outcome.
Perhaps in the life of the dead
I would receive
A warmer welcome.
But as stated above
No matter how I tire
The door leads only from ice to fire
Watery abyss to flame-drowned hell
And so I
Must stay
With you.
In your world.
In your eyes.
In your mind.
Never, however, in my own
For now.
And
For Ever.

Literature Poetry


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