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.

Apparently,

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?).