And just how loud is it going to get?
Stentorian bellows follow callow howls
Which start as chirps and end without
Breath. Maybe that is why you all
Had to go? It was getting (and staying)
A bit too loud. I tried checking out
From this cacophonous crescendo
Years ago, but it would not take.
I was not meant to beat you all there.
And the waning of my attachments
And their aversions are congruent
To the exhales of your final breaths.
Or maybe I am accepting powerlessness.
Or maybe I prefer the poetics of it.
Or maybe Life is an emotionless entity
With one job and one function only.
Life runs on a predictable timeline,
And when it runs its course some
Do not make the cut. A perceived
Void lingers, like a perpetual echo,
A decrescendo of modal languor.
What appears to remains is:
Nothingness – a Universe
Inside a pinhole (a pin hole?).