The Coward

As I look out from my window,
my apparition shining its eyes on me,
at the sky, at the rays filtered
by the leaves decorating like jewels
the ghostly barren caricature of a tree,
I feel my body tremble in anticipation
of the life ahead of me,
lacking promise, lacking hope, lacking humour,
destined to end like the tree’s
when some million years later
someone digs out the little drop of oil
that would be me, soulless,
ready to be burned off into the air,
by a fuming exhaust of a car
traversing the path I once held so sacred,
which is as sacred to the car too,
but is a mere smile on the face of time,
to be crushed when it gets angry,
I see my apparition looking at me
laughing at me, mocking me silently,
showing me how ridiculously ephemeral
my life, your life, all life can be.

In the horror of this strange prospect,
I close my eyes, press my lids tightly close,
blocking out all the light filtered for me,
refusing to see any of the beauty meant for me,
spreading guilt and dismay like universal entropy,
which again, ridiculously, or hopefully,
is as ephemeral as humanity.


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