Touching Finality

skull

The faint scent of death pervades

Latter days.

There are ways to wave away that trace.

Present time strikes one

Full in the face

With bouquets of touch and sound,

Surroundings bright with colors, light,

And even in a quiet night

The Moon can sooth to peaceful sleep.

But sleep itself can raise the care

That something threatens deep out there,

Barely discernible, it stirs,

A rip in time,

Discontinuity, and then,

And then, who knows what?

What squat frog of fate awaits?

What totality now lurks?

And so, awake, to watch

The ceiling lights of passing cars.

The marching troops of what had beens,

The avatars of what could be.

Until the weariness of empty sleep

Envelopes all concern

To swiftly endow

The yellow sun of morning now.

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