Did you come here to pass the time
that would not pass without you?

Did you come here to move the time
that would not be moved without you?

Did you come here to meet the others?
To ask why they were leaving?

Did you come here when summoned
Is that summons what you believe in?

Did you come here of your own free will
before there was a you?

Did you come here from chaos?
Did chaos come from you?

Did you come here to dream a dream
that touched no one but you
And tell no one but always act
As though that dream were true

Did you come here from want or will
And all that came before?

Did you come here not knowing
Did you leave not knowing more?

Did you come here to pass the time
That would not pass without you?

Did you come here to move the time
that would not be moved without you?

Abide
by Michael R. Burch

after Philip Larkin's "Aubade"

It is hard to understand or accept mortality—
such an alien concept: not to be.
Perhaps unsettling enough to spawn religion,
or to scare mutant fish out of a primordial sea

boiling like goopy green tea in a kettle.
Perhaps a man should exhibit more mettle
than to admit such fear, denying Nirvana exists
simply because we are stuck here in such a fine fettle.

And so we abide . . .
even in life, staring out across that dark brink.
And if the thought of death makes your questioning heart sink,
it is best not to drink
(or, drinking, certainly not to think).

Originally published by Light. Keywords/Tags: Philip Larkin, Aubade, abide, death, mortality, religion, drink, drinking, drunk, alcohol, fettle, mettle, Nirvana