We believe we are weaving each instance into a tapestry,
one that we are both in and which wraps around us.
But we are fooling ourselves if we think there are ends.
Look back, there was no beginning; look forward, what do you see?
The stars will grow weary in time
how much more then would we, where there are none?
It is—to be pithy—less about time than timelessness.
Think of the blind; they do not see black, they do not see.
So let those who can see, see that, and take comfort,
if it is comfort that they seek.
Thank you for reading It is not like that, death. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph was taken at my home in Connecticut. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
Photograph, poem, and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Work 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is © John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its creator.