That's All

You’ll become dust. I’ll 

become dust. And then big blow,

from the winds of time, 

“Ffffff.” And, that’s all,

as they say,

there we’d go.

That’s it.

That’s our lot.

One time shot. 

That’s what we get.

There is nothing more.

Nothing else.

No matter what men in frocks,

or women with beads and glass balls,

or someone who claims to be ‘otherly’ possessed.

Gurus with flocks,

hippies with pot,

Allah’s men,

Buddha’s friends,

Brahman essence on which you usually depend,

Sharmans,

Witch doctor’s

Kadaitcha man,

Or, even, Dorothy’s friends,

tell you to the contrary.

Big twirl,

Abracadabra,

Poof!

Nothing.

Not.

So, when ‘they’ say to make the most of every minute,

‘they’ mean it.

When ‘they’ say it goes quick,

‘they’ are not fucking kidding.

Whoosh! Wham!

Thank you ma am,

You are done.

“NEXT!”

And if you think that sounds kind of hard arsed,

then think about this, 

you are lying on your death bed,

you only have a short time left,

and your only thought is, if only I had more time,

I would have done this, and this, and that.

More time? You had a life time.

Think about that.