From dust you have come and to dust you will return.

The mist from that familiar cascade was keeping him from seeing a lucid outline Flecks of memories kept strangling his eyelids, trying to block out what he saw all along.

Did perpetuity just dash by?

He failed to see it again.

Every morning he adorned himself for the same skirmish.  Even the groundhog felt apologetic.  He knew for certain, a fear would tremble and burst through the soil to assail him.  It never ceased to amaze him how predictable it had become.  As to which fear however, he couldn’t distinguish.  And that anonymity scraped off any strength he had casted the day before.   Oh dear God! Will there be no end?  Murder this devil now.

I grow weary from repetition.   My reckoning rusts the very fiber that it was created from.    I grow tired of boiling the spines.

My thoughts cry, “Guilty! Fool! Coward!”

I grow restless of death that patiently lingers with an all too proverbial smirk.


Not on this occasion.  Bereavement is not with me.  Destroy my cerements.  Light the cypress on fire.  Lavender will not distill the dust that will result.  Sprinkle my ashes from my urn when the day comes.

But not today.  My elegy will wait.

Determination has kneeled in a plea, and blessed itself with the knife that slew the apocalypse.

This death march will establish the division.  Creation will destroy and eat the flesh with a lack of reverence and this time it will triumph.

PersonalMerek Davis