Sunday, September 24, 2017

On leaving and being left behind

Again I write of the saddest lines
Those that tell of departures and absences
It is curious how the social man
Both craves and dreads leaving places, lives
Spent in reason, fantasy and philosophy
Daily conversations that now turn to mere memories
Habits that are now unbalanced, missing, possibly impossible
Now that a cog is gone
The clock still turns, awkwardly
As if telling the present but living in the past
How do humans live like this?
And how do they continue to live on
Like this
Like this constant collusion of lives
And the inevitable drifting away afterwards
How can the sky remain
When stars die and fall down in blazes
Is everything for naught?
Is life all for naught?
Are temporal things without meaning?
Like ripples that collide, blur and disappear
Ethereal, temporary, brief...


But at that exact moment
The universe stops
It is the only thing that matters
All those moved by it will never be the same
Even when it all ends

And it is pain
And this is pain
But it, too, will become a memory
And this is the saddest fact of all
And this is the happiest fact of all



I look at the sky
And see the darkness of night
Highlighting the stars

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