Sawdust by a.friedman(c) 

 

The reaper glares, the Abyss stares,

God, if there is one, doesn’t give into loving.

Our lives are as mayflies, 

One day here, one day there, either in the ground

Or incinerated to ash in an oven.

 

Those we lost in the war, 

We pour our tributes to them in aimless hope

That they’ll hear us on the other side,

But there is nothing but ever-present darkness

Of great scope in the maws of the body’s destruction.

 

We carve our dreams and choke on our nightmares

From the sawdust of our whittling down our destiny,

We’re passing time not till we meet the Divine

But instead when we go to eternal rest.

 

If there’s anything that eases your discomfort, it is this:

We all eventually find a kind of peace, in inevitable oblivion.