When the weight of a thousand deaths
Becomes clearer to you,
It reveals how narrowly we think
Of our life’s disposition.
The film-like determinist bewichment of
Upsets and dissipates like snuffed flames
At nature’s assertion.
Travelers return from their dreams
To waking isolation
And open their eyes to an absurd reality
If only for a few moments.
With respect to life and death,
And the consciousnesses thereof,
Look into the mouth of darkness
We’re apart of.
Disease, it must be said,
May be more human than some humans.
That our entirety can be so fragile
Is our consistent condition.
When we remember our narratives
Are ours and ours alone,
The one we share demands consent
To have our comforts overrode.
In the busy days of Death,
What comes will prove our honesty,
And our actions will project
Our real characters into history.
Considering who and what we are,
The choices we’ve elected to embody,
What follows is the shadow of ourselves
And our inherited responsibility.
Impositions of misfortune
Are the most substantial opportunity
To engage with life’s true quality,
And for me to say I love you.