In mine and yours,
medical records are kept.
Like a fire starting from the inside,
and spreading outwards,
all your diseases are laid bare
by the good hypo-crytical doctors,
who are at oath to keep us alive.
At the end of our medical records,
Not in bold or italics,
It reads:
Cause of death ________
That end line HAS to be
filled in at some point in time.
No more thinking your immortal -
Your dead and it may's well be NOW..
The universe does not exist for you,
Time scornfully by-passes such fancies.
And at the end of the line?
Only eternity. Only.
You and I have only the darkness
To comfort and terrify us
As we sleep the never-waking sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem