The fear of death and living life in vain

…The fear of death and living life in vain…

even to say it,

as I sit here, at my desk,

which is like my own private Star Trek


and flight deck/cockpit,

where I figuratively


to and/or through

my abstract thoughts—like planets and their moons–,

feelings—like looming changes

in gravitational forces, brightness and dimness of light—

and my memories—some like treasure, which thus, brings me pleasure;
some I wish would never

return to my mind; some so fragmented

that I can’t find any kind of coherence…

though perhaps with time I could…

…As I sit here and write… even to write

about how death and living life in vain 

frighten me,

as if to verbalize

the states of various places within my mind

were to give life,

so to speak, to the words,

and…make murderers of nightmarish words,

so to speak…

though if that were so,

on and on I’d go

verbalizing my prayers

“into reality”:

for example, my prayer for my immortality

and immortality for anyone else

who wants to be immortal.

…Do you think

it’s ironic

that one’s consciousness

can fear

the prospect of disappearing…

as if consciousness

could be conscious of death

and yet of nothing else?!?

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