I’ll tell you a story about an entity
who became a Deity.
His history had always been
a great mystery.
So, here I am, a knowledge seeker, ecstatic to give
the most sought lessons which are sometimes called mythology.
The entity was once like you,
young and naïve.
He explored the galaxies and the multiverse
to absorb energy.
And when Death had discovered Him
the entity flew with rage.
I’m not done, He said. It’s just not fair!
I demand immortality!
But Death was lonely and smarter than He.
So, She granted Him His wish.
He would live forever as He wished
and become One with the galaxies.
But the entity grew tired and weary
of his aimless trajectory.
The time stretched out beyond belief
and his sanity began to slip.
Everything now looked the same
without any reprieve.
So, He begged Death for Her mercy
but Death never took back gifts.
She granted Him another wish
so He could feel free.
Reborn every time with no memories
of the lives He lived for all eternity.
He was now Life, a Deity, the opposite of She.
Death and Life, together as One, in harmony.
I hope I’ve given you the wisdom you seek
about how everything and nothing came to be
I’m a knowledge seeker,
the devourer of truths,
who watches all possibilities.
If questions you have about the multiverse
then I am your guide.
A watcher above, and so as below.
Nothing my eyes couldn’t see.
So, join me for all eternity
and come learn with me.
You see, loneliness is the hardest part
of immortality.
Hi, thank you for checking out: The Problem with Immortality. I truly appreciate it!
This short/poem kept repeating in my nightmare last night. So, just like with everything else, I got up at 3 am and manically wrote it down until my brain decided it was time to go back to sleep.
I usually create darker content whether it is art, video shorts, or stories. If this is something that you also enjoy, let's be friends :)
You can connect with me on Instagram, Twitter & TikTok @cyrls_corner and read my Lux et Obscurum issues at https://cyrlscorner.com/short-stories/lux-et-obscurum-grimoire/.
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-CyCy xoxo
About the Creator
CyCy
The Chaotic Creator | Writer, Poet, & Blogger | Multi-Genre | Beta-Reader
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Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins8 days ago in Fiction
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