Last Day Of The World

Last Day Of The World
© Surazeus
2022 02 03

I have gotten used to the feeling that 
every day is the last day of the world 
when I stand on the front lawn of this house 
where I have lived the last couple of years 
and stare at gray skies over wet hilltowns 
where nameless strangers go about their lives. 

Though millions of people die every year, 
from disasters, plagues, overwork, and wars, 
millions more are born from eager desire 
our bodies express to generate life 
in seething tides of incarnating genes 
as froth born from waves of our mother sea. 

The Deathless Mother of the fertile sea 
generates our bodies from chemicals 
sparked by beams of light from the spider sun 
whose billion eyes in neurons of my brain 
dream evolution of our universe 
when atoms transform into me I am. 

This temporary spirit that I am 
wakes in flashing consciousness of Now Here 
as self-aware soul through eternity 
that names itself before it fades away, 
so nowhere in infinity of space 
I become God before I disappear. 

Before I disappear in Mind of God 
as brief example of conceptual thought 
I breathe ethereal spirit of the rain, 
then sing heart-aching melody of love 
expressing joy that I am still alive 
since I can never sing after I die. 

From perspective of the vast universe 
this person I am on lawn in small town, 
who sings in silence of the rain-gray day, 
is nothing more than fragile flame of life 
on one small globe in countless galaxies 
that spiral from first flash of the big bang. 

I feel the White Whole of the universe 
glowing bright inside my minuscule brain 
so though I savor pleasure of this life, 
aching with sorrow as I sing with joy, 
I treasure every hour of conscious dream 
before I vanish into nothingness. 

Awake again on last day of the world, 
as Earth keeps spinning in the boundless void, 
I write words of my song in magic spell 
that preserves in Book of Lost Memories 
temporary awareness of my brain, 
then fall silent through all eternity.