BLEAK

Bleak is the mind galivanting through time

From perception to hallucination, to porpoise, to swine
The living surmise, that death has purpose,
In sentience, salience
Of all Earth’s fungus

The cold vacuum’s opus:
Prelude to paradise
Fossilized stars’ long march, across a weary cosmos
The sky’s a graveyard of light, in the quiet; the rapture
Silence, rigorously static, in how sheepishly it is elaborate

Confounded in conveyance, it’s true!
I find myself suddenly conscious in queue
In the distance, a golden gate ne’er ajar
And beyond, just out of earshot, St. Peter’s platitudes