Copyright 2015 by J.E. Kronenfeld
Death is . . .
a Void
and Nature abhors a void.
And so It sits, like a black hole sucking all of matter
Into an infinitely distant horizon
Losing all sense of time and place
And the summation of all of that ?
Horizon, void, and time ?
That we see as ourselves
Attempt to fill that void with a more meaningful emptiness
But Voids, although empty of all structure and meaning,
Have hidden complexities and singularities
So our attempts to fill these windows into an unknowable darkness
Create complexities more twisted than literary criticism
God, dogma, churches, doctrine, canons, creeds, opinions
Fill that void
With meaningless pontifications that hide the emptiness they are
Death is
A one-way gate at the end of what we call our lives
Inevitably awaiting all of us
At the end of a steeply downhill path
A gate that is a mute, blank cacophony
Of the chaos constructed of our Fears and Ignorance
Using Hope as the mortar of a bearable vision
Some avoid the gate as long as possible
For fear of what they won't find
When they once open it
Others rush foreword hastily
Unable to bear the tension of not knowing
But the Gate awaits imperturbably
Death is
The Ellis Island of a new life
We hope is filled with streets of gold,
Of endless opportunities;
An admissions office to a universal university
Where doubts and insecurities are banished
By immortal gods and confraternities;
A safe harbor in which to shelter ourselves
From the inchoate hell we see developing around us.