Three Poems

Through the lens of a decaying corpse the sight of Time makes itself known,

One any can catch a glimpse of, one many would rather not see.

The thought of Time being the only thing that is eternal, in the truest sense of the world, 

makes our core shiver at the tought.

Death itself can be bargained with if you think, in your heart of hearts, 

than there may be something after the end of the material life. 

But even that would have to end. Eternity is not beyond Time, 

as it is Time itself.



The sinless do not praise themselves, the incorruptible dance in their own gloom.

Sinners avoid the question of what will be eventually, and do not go beyond their mortality.

Once the flames inhabiting this universe will dissipate, 

the life of the universe will begin, in a cold and empty plane.

Naught will live but destroyers of what is. A change none can envision. 

The lack of it, the lack of all that may be, in its eventually.

There is nothing, I own nothing, I owe nothing.







Through the lens of a decaying corpse

The sight of Time makes itself known.

Catching this provokes a hoarse,

Resonating through the bone.



That's what people are told

So they scare from thinking about the rest.

All I look like is as if I were obsessed,

My words of doom on hold.



All I do now is enjoy life,

Without straying far from the strife

That comes with the thought

Eternity gives me, for naught.







Headache of the Year,

Waking up too late

After being out of everything

For too long; the sun became a cloud.



I remember the utter despair

When I drank so much whiskey

I just wailed here and there

Alone on the floor, making a sea.



A future, before my death, 

That does not exist.

I go day to day into the next,

Thinking I'm going to do something.

Nothing left that I want to do,

Nothing left to do.



Still I force myself to think

That  perhaps there's worth

In living itself. The world,

Past its ugliness, is a wonder.



As there is life in death,

Small, crawling, festering but

This is what I want.

You'll give back to what you took?



A future, before my death,

That does not exist.

I go day to day into the next,

Thinking I'm going to do something.

Nothing left that I want to do,

Nothing left to do.



Staring at a wall,

How many times and for how long.

Emptiness and the desire to be desireless.

Experiences and memories thought about for a bit.



The wish to dream all day long, It comes and go.

The want to want, it comes and go.

Investment, the illusion of purpose, it comes and go.

Scars left for decay, a hollow husk, breathless and lifeless, living, lying.



A future, before my death,

That does not exist.

I go day to day into the next,

Thinking I'm going to do something.

Nothing left that I want to do,

Nothing left to do.