ARSENIC
The Sweet Release
There are times, in our life of blinks and slices, when we come across brief fragments of a nature
so pure, so pristine, so as to feel all that you are, every path to every end that you may one day be,
could coalesce into a single, infinitesimal point: The rub, which is to say the zero-zero pierced
upon the Cartesian plane of infinity and eternity, a single reverberating collapse, the eye of the storm,
an echo that sings of the labyrinthine eternity: All that has been, could be, will be, might have been.
Of what do I speak?
so pure, so pristine, so as to feel all that you are, every path to every end that you may one day be,
could coalesce into a single, infinitesimal point: The rub, which is to say the zero-zero pierced
upon the Cartesian plane of infinity and eternity, a single reverberating collapse, the eye of the storm,
an echo that sings of the labyrinthine eternity: All that has been, could be, will be, might have been.
Of what do I speak?