Don'T Dwell On Death Poem by Francie Lynch

The digs prove the existence of eternity.
Lucy joined millions of years ago.
That's a long time to be in eternity,
But that's hardly eterntiy.
Her relations don't bring flowers
Or trim the grass.
They stopped mourning years ago.
Perhaps hours after she died.
Eternity is a long time not to talk.

Love doesn't really stay in your heart forever.
Forever? Too Romantic a notion for a reality check.
My eternity began at conception,
And I'm in no hurry for it to continue.
Neither should you.
It's a long time.

Will someone or something
Find forty percent of my bones down the road.
There's not enough time to fill eternity.
Remove it from famous sayings
And we have no comparison
For love, duty, time or beauty.
Can we really see it
In a blade of grass
Or in an hour.

Digs don't prove reincarnation, resurrection or spooky stuff.
Just eternity.
Silent. Non-existent.
Imagine, a dove swooping down and brushing our world
With one wing once every thousand years.
A soft or palatable swipe.
It's all the same.
Every thousand years.
After a period, the world will eventually vanish:
Every mountain and ocean - gone;
Skyscrapers and swimming pools - gone;
Boulders and grains of sand - gone;
The animals of ground, wind and water,
And earth itself - gone.
Eternity begins with the last brush
Of its wing.
That's a long time to be dead.
A long time being quiet.

I read endless poems about eternal love
And self-destruction;
But there's only one theme defining eternity,
Death.
The digs have proven it.
Lucy was found alone,
Despite all her loves.
Death wins all in the eternity theme.
Constant and sure.
That's a long, long time.
Don't dwell on it.