A candle is lit.
The wick burns,
and shrivels into dust.
A room is filled with light,
and a bit of heat.
The wax melts and drips
On to a cold stone floor.
Until the flame dies.
The room is retaken
By the darkness.
The smoke clears
The heat dissipates.
The candle is replaced.
4 October 1999
The length of human life is a single point,
A blink in the eye of eternity,
A brief bright light among many
Bordered on all sides by oblivion
Flowing like a mighty river
Swollen by storms, shrunk by drought,
Never stopping, ever changing,
Flowing out, becoming the sea.
The body is a decaying sack
Of meat, bone and mucus
Held up and animated by a dream,
Self aware smoke on the wind.
The past is dead and gone: a memory.
The future uncertain and un-promised.
The present moment slips through fingers
trying to grasp sand, ever slipping away.
Went down the desert where the vultures feed
On human flesh rotting in the sunshine.
Pluck eyes, testicles, suck out the seed.
Bloated remains, corpses, on which they dine.
Bereft of life, we all end up a meal
For buzzards, for jackals, microbes and worms.
Most don’t want to admit that death is real,
Its a truth with which all must come to terms.
If you live like you’ll last a thousand years
The time to be a good man will ne’er come.
You’ll end your life with your soul in arrears,
Fighting the fate you can ne’er escape from.
Slaves to fear and death are ne’er truly free,
Socrates didn’t fear death, why should we?