The Paramount View

I tried to capture a sense of the human experience of grasping death. Death is a part of Life, and yet we often live fighting it, questioning it, or finding something to justify it.

It's only human to wonder, ponder

Pour over what might be - the other side.

An epiphenomenon of existence, a melancholy road

To drive.

Driven by babbling seraphims,

Or demons in our dreams, singing aloud

Requiems, feeding fears

At the seeds.

It's a road paved in history

Encrimsoned in the cold blood of

Ages past, gone like the Phoenicians,

Our fate the same as the

Last.

Why? Why does the water run dry?

We cover the world in dust.

Ashes to ashes,

Metal to rust.

But here! Here now, seeing patterns in the sand

Finding pleasure in "cellardoor,"

With this, we're moonstuck

On the floor.

This body, a flagellum to the earth.

It seems rather fatuous, birth,

And to admit we might, just might

Have worth.

Woah! Strike down this cod philosophy

And for a moment see the resplendent

Truth. It's sweet on your tongue,

A lollipop of authenticity, some only see

When young.

Why? Why does the water run dry?

We cover the world in dust.

Ashes to ashes,

Metal to rust.

Behold, the statuary to our great

Elders, who saw a terrapin

In the sand, and without so much as

An ounce of ire,

They kindled life with desire.

What bedlam would have been the first

Fall, blindsided at brillig.

The rest bereft to wonder,

To bury, incinerate, or cry

At the killjoy, Death, and ask

Why? Why does the water run dry?

We cover the world in dust.

Ashes to ashes,

Metal to rust.

Left to write the epitaph,

A human thesaurus as my guide,

I put the words down like

Plinko, as they close his eyes.

If I could go widdershins

And rewrite the dawn

Bring back the effervescent stream

Which within his body teemed.

Oh, once more.

Endlessly, his beating heart

I'd give my own to hear

That dollop from afar sky

That tintinnabulation, like a thousand

Windchimes crying

Why? Why does the water run dry?

We cover the world in dust.

Ashes to ashes,

Metal to rust.

Life, that great pretender,

Rhinestoning until the grave.

A great merkin, covering up the goods,

Hiding how we were made.

How it all was...

Made.

Maybe all it took was an umlaut

The changing of the song

Of spheres, of write, of wrong,

Of breaking down the lighght

And seeing what's in night.

I left a periwinkle on your stone

Acquiescing that change is

An opalescent sunset sky

That we traverse each on our own

And ask what we must

Why? Why does the water run dry?

We cover the world in dust.

Ashes to ashes,

Metal to rust.

I had no sword to fight it

No words, no spell to

bring back those sunny eyes.

This was the paramount view,

OctothorpeEverythingDies.