Death

Death to you, the same to me, As conscious is to soul: Undefined yet understood In broken words “to be.” Science seeks to word, the other, Self, but not the same, Parts unpaired from pairing smother, The claim in titles’ game. Religion boasts the word, the all, Of us, but also of the game, Parts too paired in pointed ball, Round yet square, in some by shame. The truth is just the same to each, A reach for knowledge understood, Of why, when, how, who to we preach, The reason “could or would.” Neither wins, Neither fails, To say not to begin, An echoed call, Our own chagrin, Loss in rise and fall. All I want is felt within, Not spoken nor titled track, Recall me in your bloodless kin, Or sanguine soul or skin. Like mine, moist lime, Time by the dime, Spent by the hour shaken, Credence, empty, petty crime, To retail penny time. I’ve been spent, I’ve been sold, Neither soul nor conscious failed me, But social roles, And endless roles, Have stolen what’s before we.