As death eludes the posse of our thought,
which stalls in awe to shiver at the Brink,
The gaunt mythologies which men are taught
assures a meager cull in what they think.
Instead of celebrating selves alive
with legs to roam the earth, and eyes to see,
they're thankless for the chance to work and thrive,
no joy is found inventing lock or key.
No happiness or laughter swells inside
to crash and splash in oceanic bliss,
at tasting spray blown off the turning tide
nor greeting one who loves them with a kiss.
Our consciousness, more than star in the dark
was meant to super-nova in huge arc.