Death of a poet

When today is gone and yesterday can never be again, where will we go tomorrow?

What might it be like beyond the veil, where another realm co-exists alongside ours, watching isolated muses ponder their lives, whilst the realm of those passed move freely, and alone.

Will it all take place up in the sky? Through the heights of the towering treetops and pass the brewing storm clouds, up into the atmospheric realm of a universe. Might we meet divine beings who have watched on for many lifetimes.

Pondering for many hours more, I sit amongst golden religious walls. They hum with frequency, low and reverberating, I am holy and content.

I watch sunlight peer through the stain glass windows, bringing the illustrations to life through the humble rays. I sit still, with no connection to a god or religion. Yet, I sit with a sense of sacrality warming me. Through the silence, it’s only you that I long for.

I feel the weight of the sun and it’s you through the beams that speaks to me. I hear you when I lay underneath the night sky and pray for more stars to show me my path. You tell me time moves fast but to look up and keep moving. I feel I no longer have the chance to look at my feet and analyse the ground below me.

To feel close to those who were once with me, to believe that they will be close again. Not through the stories we share or in the framed photos on the walls. But holding my hand, a tight squeeze that conveys a world of reassurance.

I have fallen in love with the sea that swallows me. Although I am incessantly submerged beneath its waves and choke on the water, I have convinced myself that the wind will sweep me up and save me.

The absence of you was so quiet that one could hear the echoes of your laughter left behind. I can still picture your face, every single indent. I can feel the warmth of your skin pressing against my cheek when I hug you. I still recognise the smell of your perfume, lingering through the seams of your sweater.

I want to live without the knowledge of an end being as near as it is distant. It is through the mundane regime in which we live in ignorance of what comes after this world. To pass onto the next life, will the weight on our shoulders lighten, will the aching we endured mean anything at all?

Without knowing what is around the bend, the unknown becomes a hindrance of all belief. We might as well be certain of being a bird destined for an eagle’s sky. Why not choose to act as though death is a far-off future, and maybe in some future centuries from now, I’ll be a poem, or a tale told by an ancient oracle in the thronged depths of a cave.

My soul might travel into the next life or find peace to reside with the souls I have met along the way. We live without needing to know why. All we know is we will never have today again. Our today is gone forever. Maybe my today is pilled under the obligations of work or underneath the raw wounds of woe, open like fresh cuts ready for a salt bath.

Might it be possible to live without the morose thoughts of mortality burdening my hopes of flight. I want to live as though this life amounts to nothing but more, where I might see you again in my next existence, holding my hand once more.

When the sun shines down, and birds sing Happy families and kind words from strangers

Oh I wish things would stop of a minute