Standing At The Cenotaph Poem by Marcus McKinley

The hand is a shadow, by itself
In the darkness
The vacuous feelings of an inevitable end
Greeted by a hand shake in the dark
Anisotropic as a grain of wood
A welcome comfort by design
Consumed for rebirth again and again
done and undone, done and undone
Across time and space lives scatter
Nonbaryonic because, life doesn’t matter
The misunderstood bares its soul
The penetrating light meets its end
The brink of life on the edge of a hole
In the darkness of, the shadow hand
On the precipice they stood
Now, at the cenotaph we stand