if the reason
for existence
is no longer
a thing
then what?

I am just an image,
Like a flickering candle waiting to die
Like a glimpse of the sun on cloudy days
Like dead roses on my mother's grave
Like dried plants in the flower vase
Like the reflection in my lover's gaze.
I am just an image,
Like summer evenings spent on your porch
Like the first kiss that never happened
Like the scent of your perfume
Like the first time I saw you
Like one sided love and hopeless dreams
Like days that never end and nights that end too fast
Like thoughts that scare me
Like withered and dried sunflowers on my grave
Like my coffin's reflection in my mother's gaze
Like the life I wanted.
But at the end of the day
I am nothing at all.
I am just a  flickering candle waiting to die,
Just an image.
But all these memories that make
Me me are like fleeting winds
That pass away too quickly,
Sometimes too short for my liking.
Without all these moments, I am nothing
But just an image
In someone's eyes.

What do we know about life?
It has a beginning and end. We know the beginning, but not the end. It can be in a span of many years or a day.
Does it have a meaning?
Does it have a purpose?
Many people put an end to their lives. We judge them. God judges them. Suicide. An unforgivable sin against nature. Against the gift of god... Life.

But what does it take for a person to break? To lose all hope? When does life become pointless, sad, empty, full of grief and they start viewing it as torture. Does it take much? Or just one thing? Humans are delicate, sensitive...
We all have our fears. But what's your biggest fear? Is that what breaks those people? Some are terrified of being alone, some are terrified of failure, some shake upon the thought of dying. Me? My biggest fear? Loss. The loss of a person, a thing, anything. How much loss can I take before I break? We all know about it. Grew up preparing. First comes the loss of a favourite toy... That's how i got introduced to the feeling of grief.
Then we lose something more special... Perhaps a piece of jewellery we liked and wore every day. When we grow up a bit we experience the loss of a loved one for the first time. Perhaps a grandparent? Or a distant relative?
From kids we are scared of the day we will be alone. Of the day we lose our parents. We prepare for it. Every day. Every month. We grief the thought of ever losing them. Perhaps when we become Forty... Fifty?
We make plans. College.. grandchildren.. life..
Is it all a lie?
Is it all a pointless dream?
My greatest fear is loss. I have known that. So I prepared. I was ready. Until I wasn't...
The second of August 2024.
The day. Next to the ocean. The day he told me. Cancer. What? One, two years until I loose him? But what about the plans we had? Was it all a lie? The small cottage and the dog? Was It just a pointless dream?
I wish that day. The second of August. I wish that day had been a dream. It hurt.
I thought I would stop breathing? I thought that the world was ending... But life had the audacity to continue. It hurt, until it didn't. Until my brain forgot the pain. So how much does it take to be suicidal? Maybe once is not enough. But what about the people that live on the line between life and death? The reckless once? That sit there waiting for a stronger breeze to sway them one way or the other? Are they suicidal? The ones that drive just a bit too fast? The ones that like to live on the edge? Maybe it doesn't take much to be suicidal. Maybe pulling the trigger is the hard part... Maybe... Or is it just me? What's your biggest fear? What if it happened tomorrow? Today? Can anyone prepare for that? And how much would it take for you to break? How much time until life becomes pointless...
My dad is dying. And yet, it's still about me... What about him? His dreams? His fears? With what did we, he, you deserved it? Why is life torturing us? What did we do so wrong?
It's all questions and no answers...
Maybe one day I will understand. Maybe one day I will have the answers.

Until then... What's the thing that will turn your life into a tragedy?

My technoscribbles haven't all cachet;
A mother hen on Friday farts an egg.
Even a swill of parlance has a say
When maple roadmaps varicose a leg.
A skinnydipping nakedest remote
Viewer that loons a dreaming skims a pond
Fractals a nascent green and gleimous note
Hanging athwart with someone's else's blonde.
Take heart.  The fish have lungs and breathe the air
Of a new day when everyfish can ***
With or without a whiff of underwear,
Though salty tears are sweetest under the sea.
Milfs are a pack of pickleballing hots
Playing to win a plate of tater tots.

Of all the things I've lost
and all the things I've gained,
I've found the most meaning
in the things that remain

my words come with no music
so you can just read them
the way you hear them

just like the way they’re spoken
unbroken, by the melody of the moon

my words have many fingers
so you can hold them
as you seldom do

and truth lingers unspoken
till you hear me, feel me
a wordless tune

So much to say, which means so little;
So little to say, what that means much.
These ends we face, often,
Come on fast and taper out just as such.
What that remains: naught but thought.
Loose and multiplicitous as strands,
Hair of the artist's brush,
Colors as the richest palette -
Bold & bright, deep & dark

Who am I,
But the meaningless purpose, set out
To echoes of their tears— dancing their fires
upon each tongue. Am I wrong wanting not,
to be as equal to parentages?

What does it mean to be free; to be not
Set to be, or set free in a world, only not to be
Anything it recognizes— for the freer person in
this world, are only but the dead. So must I,
sacrifice my life, to then feel alive?

My time each day, is all amalgamation of
Escapeless breath. Oh, isn’t it such a waste to
Be young; for the subtle interest of being ill trained
By the perception of the Owed?

For our youth is truly a debt to those
who train us to be better—
But it’s a lesson not meant to be free,
for when you meet their age, you like them,
feel something is owed.

“Oh, where is the time, I had invested in you,
The wisdom and guidance my
hand laid upon your head?
For from the full of my flesh, I raised you up,
From being a fool. I had decided your
purpose from what I had seen fit,”

Enough then said; to ask of you again,
who am I, who am I then?

As evolution jumped from eon to eon,
the foundational hunger to remain
surpassed all bounds this great celestial
has ever witnessed in its cosmic disturbance.
How must Mars and Jupiter, these stars in the sky
view the deep blue that flooded the desolate,
a clump of collected debris basking in the ultraviolet,
unable to resist the presence of life, ever-so unwanted
and needless to exist? For our neighbors in the sky,
glancing our way in their soulless façade,
they gossip to their peers about the news over here,
the autumnal shift from emerald to bronze,
willows who wept in the heat of summer days,
dandelions dotting the ridges of a rolling hillside,
at times dipping their toes in the whispering waters
of a backyard creek caressing the moss
atop smooth and shimmering stones.

From nothing you surged as entropy evermore,
and from everything you share your entities,
the very body you call your own, the breath
you maintain in this cyclical palindrome;
as mere extensions of the singularity’s core,
you find yourself in this position of awe,
gazing at the consequences never meant to be seen.






How fortunate we are to find ourselves here
in a sea of tumultuous chaos, conscious and
ever-so present in the discovery of knowledge.
To look to the past through a tubular lens
and remain unknowing of time’s present state,
the physical probabilities of potentials unforeseen
bending the rays of time to juxtapose new and old;
reality remains a pervasive illusion
evading the grasps of human cognition. Our
consciousness supersedes the premise of us all,
but our curiosity quivers in the breath of the
meaningless; how could something so rare
and inconceivable surmount to nothing more
than the imminent emergence of an empty abyss?
We must never misjudge the reign of the cosmos,
lose all hope that nothing awaits --
this I will not believe.  

From nothing I surged as entropy evermore,
and from everything I share my entities,
the very body I call my own, the breath
I maintain in this cyclical palindrome;
as mere extensions of the singularity’s core,
I find myself in this position of awe,
gazing at the consequences never meant to be seen.