Whether we
once plump
and juicy fruits
wither on the vine
like grapes to raisin
or rise in
comparison
to the splendor
of the morning
horizon,
that lovely light
which beckons
moon burnt hearts
to brighter days?

Whether we let our gaze
consume the days,
feeling warm tidings
of flesh rising
to potential fullness
instead of previous flattened
passions?

Whether we
live or die
matters not
to the celestial bodies
that paint
the infinite night sky.

In fact, somedays
when my mood sways
to darker ways
it matters not one bit
if all the wit
of humanity
just slips
into the dark abyss.