“Death created time to grow the things that it would kill.” -Rustle Cole “True Detectives”
And we will only know the ones
we left behind when we finally
turn around and look back towards
the fading light.
The silhouette of the missing persons
is the veil over your heart, a screen
across your memories, the gauze that
you can’t quite pull away from your
emotional cataracts.
It will matter not though as you
slip away, the “you” that was never
there in the first place, the ones that the
Source tendrils bound to so “It”
could enjoy this illusion’s ride from
bright flash to cold dark.
And this “us”, the true cosmic punch-line,
everything in between the flash and the crash,
nothing but our ineffectual screams to understand
our staring role in a story we don’t comprehend.
This twisted hunting safari of the “Divine” where the real
sport is only destruction and chaos.
About the Creator
Steve B Howard
Steve Howard's self-published collection of short stories Satori in the Slip Stream, Something Gaijin This Way Comes, and others were released in 2018. His poetry collection Diet of a Piss Poor Poet was released in 2019.
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