Cascading, torrential turbulenceLike the drowning of fireflies.

Blips of illumination,

Swallowed by the waves

and followed by lacunae
All the pulsars and nebulae,

They all fade out, and so shall I.

But what comes in the after?

A cliched sea of empty?

Meeting all the fireflies?
Dubious in all our expressions,

In all our children of the soul.

These are our works of art

Attempting conveyance and control
But we’ll never understand the spirit

Not it’s heights, nor its limits.

But, incessantly, we’ll attempt:
Loving ’till the end is nigh

Making ’till our bodies die.

Will we fade like the firefly?


Finality is a lie.

  1. debbiefogle says:

    Keep bringing us the talent that we all know is within you…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yes, finality is a lie; interesting that we don’t know a thing about the world, the universe, the oceans, about ourselves – but anyway we pronounce Truths, with such an impressive, omniscient pose ..

    Liked by 1 person

    • I know. So much of the tangible world is unknown, so imagine how much more is unknown outside of the confines of space time. Physicists, to my knowledge, even admit that there are things outside the scope of our perception and understanding. The “finality is a lie” part I wrote is mainly about the afterlife, which is actually the entire focus of this poem.


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