would you believe me if i were to tell you tonight i faced Death… once again
except it was no more than a few centimeters away this time… clawing… crawling closer.
would it make sense if i had a flashback of every memory i have ever had,
including some i had never experienced, like the origin of the earth,
my birth, and navigating life as a bystander– unbeknownst of the reasons for anything.
i experience a state of transition– my soul struggling to stay inside but desperate not to leave for some reason.
no will of my own, i was incapacitated, almost comatose– and yet there still was some life inside my lifeless, limp, nearly soulless body.
why, i wonder. what was pushing me on? when all i remember is whispers and cries, unable to respond…
unable to purse together m lips, as if sewn tight– i can’t gasp for words.
not just a bystander anymore but also a nonparticipant.
so much is blurry now…
as if i was never supposed to see the things i did.
as if i was never supposed to find my way back.
as if that was my last foray and somehow i cheated Death–
unlikely for someone like me to do this when millions before me have tried and failed.
so why did Death betray me too? why didn’t it embrace me?
maybe it is because someone wished for me to stay. maybe it wasn’t my time but then…
and yet i can’t get the daze, the fog, the cloudiness over all my thoughts, incoherently connected, more questions than answers,
on-looker to all the tears around me and nudges, begging me to respond.
then why are tears streaming down my cheek in rapid fashion– a hurry unparalleled.
why am i mourning something that still remains? what is this obfuscation?
why don’t i have the answers i want… why am i here writing this?
i can’t bear to look anyone in the eye– i have no words nor a wish to speak.
maybe it’s the shock because i am shell-shocked.
but maybe it’s the same way you require a settling-in period in someplace new,
so maybe my soul was reacquainting itself… or maybe it was preparing the final coup. the last gasp of—
Death is lifeless too, and formless. there is no grim reaper waiting on the other side.
Death is faceless, sudden, and abrupt.
it’s painless, and it’s numbing.
there is no continuity or context- it’s a way
of detachment. a funny way to remind you of all you may have done in moments that you forget– but why so soon… if ever?
if you didn’t, you would spill out all of Death’s secrets, wouldn’t you?
Six Times Forever: A Poetic Recollection of Hopeless Romanticism is available on Amazon. Click on paperback or kindle to visit the appropriate links. You can also find it on Book Depository.
Click here to listen to my podcast (Panacea of Rhapsody) on Anchor.fm.
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Death is always fatal… final… finito…