of life and death

when you die-
when your conscious frame is bare,
what will become of this?

all the tastes,
familiar textures,
the slight din of silence

the cool rain,
a pebble's weight and shape,
any and all-
you will not remember it.

it will all be sent away
left behind
it will triangle down the horizon
to a point you'll never see again


no voice will echo in your thoughts,
the colors and disposition of life-
will it not all fade as a steam
and be considered no more?

death is its own. resolute and final.
the transaction begs no introduction.
what has been will be no longer.

what, then, of life?
does it concern itself with death?
life goes about its duty
of forgetting death,
cheating and mocking the grave.

there is no reverence in the halls of young men
life is but an endless avenue
of gain and waste, gain and waste

when you die-
when your conscious frame is bare,
what will become of this?

all the tastes,
familiar textures,
the slight din of silence

the cool rain,
a pebble's weight and shape,
any and all-
you will not remember it.

it will all be sent away
left behind
it will triangle down the horizon
to a point you'll never see again


no voice will echo in your thoughts,
the colors and disposition of life-
will it not all fade as a steam
and be considered no more?

death is its own. resolute and final.
the transaction begs no introduction.
what has been will be no longer.

what, then, of life?
does it concern itself with death?
life goes about its duty
of forgetting death,
cheating and mocking the grave.

there is no reverence in the halls of young men
life is but an endless avenue
of gain and waste, gain and waste