Turning to my friend, I say, “I must tell you about death.”
We’re staring into a cloudless night
Lying there, he turns to look at me “What about it?”
The thought of it
Too concrete, too limitless for us to understand
Picture it, death
Pulling you in from a screaming pursuit
Into the hopeless void of space
Does death hold a firm grip?
During this catastrophic explosion
Or are you staring into his face?
Looking into death’s eyes behind a work desk. Sitting in a chair Staring at a bookshelf in the corner
“Do you miss your friends yet?” He asks, almost cavalier He laughs at your idea of god, the afterlife “Did you really think it’d be that simple? You thought you’d be rewarded for shoveling your neighbor’s sidewalk
and praying before bed?
You humans are the only keepers of time,
Of god’s image.
Freedom from existence is the answer to the meaning of life.”
Death is wearing dress shoes and your expiration date on his wrist.
Profile: Tyler Trelease