(A commentary on my 18th year)
I don’t know why or how or when I got to where I am.
I don’t know what was or what will be or even what is.
I cannot see my steps even as I take them.
I cannot see because a dimness and fog covers my eyes.
Men dwell in the sand and ants walk on the moon.
The sky is filled with dust and the oceans with the trees.
I’m not blind, but my sight only confuses me.
Why do the jetplanes sail the ocean and the ships adventure the sky?
Why do the chairs rest on the ceiling and the bed upon the wall?
Where is order? How does the universe step in time?
Why have I lived this long, to know so little?
Why have I viewed so much, and seen so darkly?
I have nothing. I am an ordered mess of atoms that cannot cease too soon.
My lack of sight, my poverty of wisdom, they are of me.
I blame the atom mess, but only I can take the fault.
So let me die.
And so I died.
Death is the final punctuation.
No, Death is a comma, rather than a full stop.
Death is only the start,
Because only after Death comes Resurrection.