People die every day.
In a plane crash, in a car wreck
By knife, virus or incompetence
With someone, without someone
early, late, just in time.
People die every day.
And the thing is
We all still get up in the morning
Mostly with a smile on our face
To face this most cruel of killing worlds.
It’s complicated. This death thing.
When does it go from
“Oh, what a tragedy!”
“Oh, what a loss!”
to
“My condolences”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Where is that line between a
horrible death and
an inevitable one?
People die every day.
Yet, we hurry like flies
to meat bones left outside
by the mystery butcher
in the sky.
We say to ourselves,
I’ll keep going forward
for the kids, for me mom
for the possibility I’ll
see, know, experience
the purpose of it all
beyond death.
But the problem
isn’t death or finding this purpose.
People still die every day.
The question we need to answer to ourselves is:
Why we should need to have a purpose?
Why we need an answer at all — to death?
People die every day.
In so many ways.
The miracle is
we really, truly, deeply, madly
don’t care
despite the fakery otherwise.