These words make promises,
take verbs and nouns
herd together fun sounds
to create new meaning,
to sift sand from the strands
of fate,

but wait.

These stories
are not that great.
When we line up
the good and bad stuff,
sift through
the **** they give you
to make some meaning
we are missing
the sad fact,
the truth that
these narratives lack
any order.

We want it so much.
Meaning makes us
less sad,
but the truth
is neither good nor bad.

We put a period
on the end of a life
then write
about another side,
but as far as I
can tell tonight
there is no proof
of an afterlife.

Fear and loss
makes us accept
the lies of the inept,
puts us in debt
and out of our mind.
Till time
takes all that is you
and all that is me.
Less than a brief blip in the history
of eternity,
blinking out before
infinity can see anything
worthwhile about our being.