We are all condemned
to demise and desertion;
an unknownity that resides
in an absent corridor.

The fight has ever been
alluring. the inevitability
of calamity creates
an artistry unlike others.

Perhaps it's the
authenticity of death itself.
yet we sustain the fight,
often with exhilaration.

We will never be in this crack again,
and subsequently our ashes will
vanish into the envelope and
we will become nothing.

We are everything.
A conjunction of entity and being
with a psyche for theory.
Palms lingering for ease.

How can something be so viable;
attuned to everything,
be ravaged and erased
into nothing?

There is a beauty in the end,
attraction in departure.
Some spend their lives evading it,
others seeking it.

Death is only the birth.
leaving a print of the past
and venturing into
another awakening.

And nobody knows where
that leads to or why.
Everything is more beautiful
because we are all doomed.