Promises of Pain to come

My imagination is a canyon,

streams of consciousness carve through the tributaries

eroding with each flood.

One path is deeply cut and the pain is a long acquaintance.

 

Vivid particulars spark between neurons

decades in prediction I can see

my mother lying on spotless white sheets

an IV dangles from a breathless being

a stifled whimper.

 

It echoes into the present,

the river of thought reaches the delta,

tear ducts dilate with clinched fists. 

There is nothing I can do to stop an end for those I love.

The face is replaced by friends, family, lovers,

Wrinkled and grey the inevitable fate for some;

but Death awaits all.

 

Why man fears his own death is a mystery,

it is the only consolation in the face future grief.

An end to personal suffering but not to those left behind.

 


Theme: Imagination of evil

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