We act as if death will pass us by

as if somehow —

we will be the one exception

to the one guarantee.

We cloud our days with fantasies that our time is infinite

by remaining on the surface

of our tasks, our relationships, our emotions

afraid to see look and see

our own fleeting vulnerability

staring back at us.

For if we peered deeper into absolutely anything at all

an unfolding would begin in us,

a reverence for the majesty within the mundane,

would whisper’s the loudest truth —

so subtle it rattles the cage around one’s soul.

The knowing comes closer

cascading around you as you stand beneath it’s gushing fall

baptizing you with everclear understanding —

death weaves itself through every crevice of existence

as you open your chest wide

wide enough to breathe eternity in

another moment.

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Maria Coyle

Maria Coyle

Writer/poet setting fire to the heart of the world whilst feeling it all herself.