I think nothing of it

I think nothing of it

Unless in the dismissal

All of its irrelevance

Becomes wholly relevant

It matters little until it does,

Is my best guess

But are we finite?

Is a question best left unanswered

As any answer is subject to debate

The grief we feel when all is lost

Will not be deadened or foreshortened

By a choice of word.

Its emphasis

The ambiguity implicit in meaning

The platitudinous homily

When the fortunate or perhaps, unfortunate

Distributors of glib affirmations

Disguised as wisdom

Speak of death as an epic journey

A release of the spirit

A return to god

Not an end but a beginning

Equal to or more than energy conversion.

How foolish a distinction

A denial in itself

I hope they come prepared

For the weight of suffocation

The hollow depth of sufferance

Neverending

When the truth

As far as truth can be

Is never as close to dawning

As to reach

The very cusp of understanding.

Breathe me a river of fruitless declarations,

In thankless shallows, I will wander

Until the tides turn

An unsurprising undercurrent

Will sweep me off my feet

But what may come,

In the dragging down

The pitiless whirl

The salting away,

Will always remain, a mystery