There\'s a comfort in death.
Echoes of ephemeral ecstasy,
lashings of leaves
dancing on the brief breeze.
For to suffer, to continue
to endure like extreme edifices
twined in sinuous sheets
that no one sees
is superfluous suffering.
In the wake of things past,
lying below ground or scattered;
events we should let be.
On cold, hard sand
I wish to stand
at the ocean of life;
roiling, tumbling sea
& know that I no longer have to bathe,
to hold up my head &
frantically thrash
my feet, but be at ease