From the moment pen toucheth this page, the earth tremble, anticipating.

These letters are no more ink than gods are mortal.
Any gaze to my eyes is Olympian nectar to throat.
Their glimmer and glisten burn brighter than suns, the Kosmos rearrange in submission.
My words, nay, my scripture more divine than concepts of time.
My script glide more graceful to Mozart on ivories.
My comprehension dives deeper and flies higher than that of many. Art and beauty are not words enough to describe my creations of the page,
A fine horsehair brush could not create lines more fine than mine.

When mortality secedes, subsides in submission,
When the world is to tumble and crumble,
Two slivers of our earth shall still remain.
One plate be laid by thy deities to rest their sodden heads upon,
And the other, segments higher, would be reserved for me.

Here on earth, however, is my burden: to sustain.
It’s the indecisive grey between life and death, between joy and sorrow.
It’s long after my first burst of breath yet far before my reward is reached and received.
Shall it be perceived as a reward?

Trapped in dead clothes, in dead wood, and in dead bugs,
My loved ones and admirers seemingly miles above?
In these I see no reward, no gold, no desire.
But the question may serve, do we go on?

Does the essence, the light of the self live on past my years?
Is it dark? Is it bright? Is it sweet? A poison?
Does the light rise above all else such as a whale rises to break the crystal surface?
Closing my cradled eyes to contemplate, two electric blue eyes return my inner gaze.

Two midnight moon pools, so deep I could swim.
I feel like drowning, to forget what is, what was, what were, the could-have-beens.
In those eyes I see mountains and valleys.
In those eyes I see hope and regretting.
In those eyes I see dark, hooded alleys.
In those eyes I see wish of forgetting.

As I open eyes of my own, I see those eyes still staring back.
It is a look of blatant hunger and a gut-wrenching thirst.
It’s a craving for knowledge to understand the expanses of After.
To exist, to subsist in harmony and in peace
What good does it do if we cannot comprehend After?
Is it large? Is it small?

Oh Mind, cease the questions that cannot be answered.
Cease the shapes that cannot be filled.
Cease the dots ne’er to be connected.
Cease the dark without the light.
Cease the ever grey waiting for knowledge.
Cease the two blue midnight pools of After’s eyes.