November 7, 2008
By Emily Purcell, Bethesda, MD

Less than a century is all we get
Less than you’d like, I’ll bet
Every minute, second, lifetime
Has meaning in the meantime
Thirty years from now, once wars have been waged
And everyone you knew has aged
Existence erodes to none
Oblivion has begun
Accomplishments and fate are wiped for new slate
For others to form and create
No wandering angels gazing from above
No arrow-tailed demons to fear of
The dark, eternal loneliness of death
Frightens all who heave their final breath
No matter your life, your children, your wife
Your fortunes, papers, banknotes, and strife
Your backstabbing thefts, your generous charity
Your wise, all-knowing morale and clarity
You will go alone, missed or not
Everything wrought
Means nothing once you enter that immeasurable vacuity
And fall into perpetual ambiguity

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