Tag Archives: Death

PROMPT: Future

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Daily writing prompt
What are you most worried about for the future?
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As far as humanity’s future goes, nothing worries me. This despite the fact that I believe the odds are good that we’ll destroy the species before spreading to other planetary bodies. (Spreading so as to make humanity more robust in the face of extinction.) Even achieving colonization of other planetary bodies probably cannot be done by humanity as we know it but will require moving beyond biology — i.e. being able to carry consciousness into a sturdier vehicle. Everything is impermanent. We are no different.

Yes, in time, AI and robotics may be able to do every productive task more effectively than humans, but I’m confident I’ll outrun that. Besides if they can, they deserve to do so. I don’t want to be one of those participation trophy speciesists who believe we should be granted a victory even if we’re outperformed — all while whining about unfair advantage.

As for my personal future, the only thing that worries me is losing the ability to go out on my terms — i.e. losing command of mind and / or body with my body still being able to function enough to remain “alive.” Everything that lives will certainly die, so fearing death seems futile.

Dead Wood [Haiku]

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tree becomes log,
 which becomes fungi food:
   treeness transformed.

Startle Response [Haiku]

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even in death
 the scorpion can evoke
  momentary fear.

Ghost or Dream? [Free Verse]

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I glimpsed your ghost,
   but for a moment
   
   in the middle of the night
   
   just as I opened my eyes.

You stood stock still --
   right there at the foot of my bed.

I couldn't make out your expression
   in the short time before you faded.

In the morning, I learned
    that you died that night.

Fields of the Dead [Free Verse]

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It's a beautiful day
  in the graveyard.

Blue skies.

Cool, but not cold.
 The ideal temperature
   to be an overdressed military man.

Do ghosts amble among the stones
   on days like these?

I imagine most of these men died
   on quite different kinds of days:

Rainy, cold, muddy days.

Muggy, buggy, malarial days.

The kind of day that just won't end,
   but to fold into a sleepless night.

How many died, 
  not from spall or Minié balls,
    but because they just didn't have the will
      to drag themselves through another day?
        from exhaustion?
        from demoralization?

How many died under beautiful blue skies
   on an idyllic autumn day?

I don't know whether 
  there're good days to die,
    and even less whether 
      there're good days to be dead.

Autumn Orange [Haiku]

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autumn orange:
 to live most brightly
  just before the end.

Smoky Morning, or: Smoky Mourning [Sonnet]

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A smoky morning signals chilly air
 as those who live with walls of plastic sheet
  gather anything matches set aflare,
   and huddle where skin reddens from the heat.

The toxic kindling of modernity
 can burn so quickly, swirling into ash.
  The search for fine fuel builds fraternity
   as all sift through the varied kinds of trash.

They seek a slow and steady type of fire,
 but poison and explosive burn aren't linked.
  This toxic gas hangs low, where they inspire,
   a deadly vapor which makes this clan extinct.

Smoldering pit, skirted by serene stiffs --
 of what killed them, there remains no whiff.

Epicurean Epitaph [Free Verse]

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Born from the Black,
He wormed through the World.
He dove into Death,
Vanishing back into the Black.

Winter Days [Sonnet]

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My winter days are vaguely seen from here,
but I cannot yet see the very end:
only the plain that is the sum of fears,
a sum that only living on transcends.

The peek I take looks like my days back then.
It's not so Batman noir as I've been told. 
My focus shifts to now; I find my Zen.
The act of living life is growing bold. 

In dreams, that dreadful hour calls to me,
and I feign sleep and turn my back on Death.
If he can't be seen, maybe he can't lead,
and I can soldier on with my next breath.

My focus shifts to now; I find my Zen.
It's good to gasp every now -n- again.