The dead cannot die anymore

The dead cannot die anymore, it is only the living that can know this...

GRAVES, SILENT AND COLD

If you look into the graves you will see that the dead cannot die anymore and their cold voices are silent, all that they ever were or could ever be has been claimed by the dust they came from and all memory passed into history.

When you go into the grave you take with you all of your aspirations and hopes, all of your striving will end, and whatever you once owned will belong to someone else.

Not for nothing is it said that when the grave calls it is time to say goodbye to everything. And after you’ve gone you don’t get to come back, for whatever you were will no longer be.

In the fleeting moments of life where we get to dance for awhile with all the things we think we own but really are only lent to us, this is it, for better or worse, until we go down into those graves silent and cold forever.

And so, with our time so short it makes sense to spend it wisely, while we have it to enjoy; unless you’re really depressed, and then the grave whispers to you its cold dark secrets.

CONTRACTS

Taking root in one place brings contracts and most of them invisible and so hard to break until you move away and find them a weight to carry around; it is then that you can let them go.

But because I am my world and I take me wherever I go so that here is there but there is never here and I’m always looking for it, it is an impossibility never to be realised for wherever I go here I am being me now.

“You make it sound like a curse.”

Yes, strange that, don’t you think?

“Slow down, you’re worrying too fast.”

It’s this echo chamber that makes my thoughts too big and captures them to haunt me too much.

“Stop thinking then.”

SCULPTURES

The wind in a windless place blows the thoughts from somewhere and I chomp them into smaller pieces as they come and make word sculptures of them that I place in the desert where the hot sun bleaches them as I travel on planting more.

And if I ever look behind me all I will see is a forest of bleached bones reaching to the sky as they sink back into the dust where they came from.

But it’s a small thing to know this and means nothing, and if ever I would be asked my worth I would indicate the forest of impermanence where my life has been spent in the bleached windblown remains of all I could have been.

And then they tell me to: “cheer up, it’s not that bad, the word still remains and the sky accepts all offerings beneath it.”
For the sun to bleach and the wind to blow away...

“Would you live forever?”

Why should I live at all?

“That is for you to find out.”

This is a sculpture and I will plant it here.

DOLDRUMS

The doldrums have set in and all is still, but it is not the silence of peace for that comes from contentment; no it is the silence of an unfulfilled desire that cannot move towards fulfilment and so remains out of place.

The only answer is to let the desire go, but in the doldrums nothing moves.

“You must pray for the wind to blow if you want to move on.”

The wind is an illusion as is the moving and here is not a place that exists except in my mind.

“How would you feel if a storm came and blew you out of the mist into the clear blue sea where you could be master of your fate once again?”

I will let you know if it ever happens.

“You are surrounded by hundreds of islands and each of them makes the same case as you.”

Am I a product then and a failed one at that to be so abandoned and alone?

“You are depressed and must get out more.”

Says a figment of my imagination.

“It is said that the next step up is anger.”

I can’t be bothered.

“Then you will rot until you do.”

If I do or if I don’t it’s all the same.

“Well I’m all out of suggestions.”

Good, maybe now I can move on.

Image from Pixabay

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