An inhabited body:
Well, from here,
I just can't see,
Its impermanence disrupting,
Day-to-day tranquility.
Is this fault of the mind?
Or does everyone secretly
See life as a curtain,
And sense something behind?
How does a person,
because no one can stay,
Fathom the extinction,
of our personality?
Anyone with any thought,
Has reasoned it away,
but what then if you notice,
that one day becomes today?
It seems we live in
infinite presumption:
Those that do and don't believe.
It seems to all,
Loss is tragic,
Every death: a life to grieve.
But whatever is said now,
To we men with our sense:
To our bones we'll still bow,
And,
Go
on with existence.
-J.L.
