Finite.
What all good things come to
Where the stopping stops
and the entropy ends,
the inexorable slide
to the blackest of black holes.
Only,
that’s a lie,
isn’t it?
There’s no colour,
no possible description
just the knowledge that
this won’t go on.
Nothing goes on.
Nothing.
Not even the word for it.
Try snapping your fingers.
Then stop.
Now, that silence-
imagine that’s how everything goes.
And no-one there to listen
Not even god.
And remember, death
Is not a subtraction, a taking away
It’s a never having lived.
Advertisement
Like this:
2 bloggers like this post.
I love the ending…how sad to be dead because you have never “lived” the life you have been blessed with…a grave of the flesh
Welcome to Brian’s Goth page
Susie. Where the gloom just keeps on coming!!
Insightful, and so poetic! I love “Where the stopping stops” and the way you er… end it – and you’re right, of course – it feels right (and makes me think with regret of times in my life when I’ve dragged my feel and called it living).
Thanks for that, Ruth. Glad the relentless gloom didn’t chase ye away.
An evocative one. Suppose the existence of death depends on what one conceives of as a full-fledged (yes, blessed) living as opposed to just being formally alive. Death’s but nonexistent.Thanks to the author!