by Chris McGinty
In the darkness. In the void. Holding an appointment with death. Where has the life gone? Will it come around again? The figures holding the inquiry. The time slipping and abolished. Looking out from the desolation to see nothing beyond the isolation. Will it be once more? Was it ever anything to begin with? The willingness to trade one form of unhappiness for another and to forget what it means to want.
To move – with nowhere to move to – or to have sight in a place not worth seeing. Signifying the lost cause and acknowledging the futility. To breathe in the thick, poisonous air or to swim in the thickest of muck. Indicating no need for tomorrow and failing to reminisce prior glories.
In the darkness. In the void. Keeping the appointment that was made. It was never meant to linger on so long. The layers of inaction and the very defining of fears. It will never return from the moment it started. It can only move to its inevitable end. It’s pre-determined and unflinching. Tragic destiny played out. It might never see the end of time culminate, but it will see a small part extinguished.