Mortality revealed

I am convinced. There are voices in our lives that speak words echoing for days, bouncing off the walls of ourselves, rubbing our edges soft, their truths so deep and wide the oceans can not hold them. Soft piercing voices that cut into the primitive core of ourselves and lift us up into the glacial heights of our possibility. The words will be surprising, and aching, and delightful in their purity. And if we’re lucky, they will linger. And when they pass onto the other dimensions we can’t see, their vacancy will be profound. The sheer reality that Mary Oliver will never write another poem… her voice is silenced forever by the grave… how painful is this mortal life! How I wish it’s end was not so permanent! I swallow this whiskey and inhale breath tonight with the keen reminder that these moments are numbered. And no thing is sure, beyond the now. Perhaps I’ll kneel tonight and ask the heavens for some small comfort. Mortality will accompany me to my empty bed, remaining cold and terrifying, on the other side.