Throttled Zenith

Death is but the beginning
of the end:
the chapter unfinished.
Love undiminished,
a temporary hiatus
of existence.

Somewhere the cosmos weep,
Mortality’s cruel discrepancies –
tears birthed from misrecgonized immortality.

If only
imperviousness throbbed beneath skin,
perhaps bones and broken wills would never exist.
Time is but the sand diminishing,
the legacy we birth.
With every infinitesimal second of genius—
existence thrums in those moments of creation.

Farewell,
for Life is the act of seizing,
a transitive verb unceasing.
Breathe but the hint of loneliness,
the struggle of coping
in the unrelenting war-time of being:
never alone.