For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome., Primordial Pilgrimage, Silence is deep as Eternity; speech is shallow as Time, Spoilers
The end is nigh,
And as I die, it closes in.
A soft velvet paralysis,
Like a pair of glacial gloves,
Gently holding my face,
Invading my being,
Stuffing my ears and mouth with cotton wool.
Deftly saturating my body.
A transcendental taxidermist.
It is not sharp, death,
But muted and distorted.
A telescopic creature,
Padding and pulsing its way towards me.
Broadcasting the muffled echo of a life lived,
A bleached carbon-copy of one existence,
Reflected at me through bright, thick, lenses.
Humming and drumming.
Torn from the vast plains of Archeus,
This Leaving possesses an element of silence
It is not golden.
It is simply the beginning of an end.
An end to reason, which feels akin to treason.
To my heart and mind.
Slotted, potted and allotted somewhere in time.
I watch life – the deserter,
Relinquishing all duties,
And turning in its badge,
It peels its taut, curled fingers
From my grasp, one by one… and leaves.
But soft, slowly, kindly.
Will it let me hang on to its shirt-tails I wonder?
Either way… I wish it luck.