Poetry for November 1st, 2017

This Way to Blank

Having blown out ninety five candles
On the way to Blank,
I wonder why the celebrations.
In no way responsible for initiating the journey,
Arriving from the inner dark
Tiny, nude, hugnry and terrified.
Unable to rise, sit, walk, talk, reason,
Nor survive unassisted,
We bravely head for our ultimate dust.

An orbit later the anniversary of our entrance
Is held, lighted by a single flame.
From that moment ’til the scythe harvests us,
We move from “I’ll live forever” to pondering:
Why the celbrations
andWhat lies beyond the Blank?
All the while
Trying to tread
In the prints ofa humble Galilean

William Farragher

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