I once believed in destiny and things like that,
but death is the end of all endeavors
and always has the last laugh.
There will be no trumpets
calling us forth on some last day,
only the cold wrap of space around our loins.
They say matter can neither be created nor destroyed.
We will drift among the stars forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so interesting that the most brutally realistic look at life can be written so beautifully... reminiscent, at least to me, of thanatopsis... Del