In general, I thought less about it with each passing day
Until later it had faded so completely that I did not care
Smelling the sweetness of some Elysian Field, deeply sensing the perfection
The reality of what has become accepted truth is nothing but a patterned rumor
Then trillions of years pass and nothing remains but what is essential:
Breathing, seeing, causing, farting, eating, discovering, passing, fading, disappearing
Look at the cover and understand what it truly means to be filled with reverent awe
Read the words as if they are some holy script long since lost among the sands of time
Standing near the ocean, screaming for respite, for order, for one last gasp
But none shall be given–it has been ordained
Shallow sips of air, more, silently begging into the ether
For a last moment of grace
Yet handed only dust and ash.
Copyright 2016 by Andrew Bradford. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.