Dignitas; poem on my view of life


 

Shudder, stare at an emaciated self

Taste buds worn out, functioning not.

Like late justice food is now available

When peristalsis cannot self sustain

Dignitas clinic is a hundred years in the future, here

He clumsily lifts one dead limp with the functioning one

His mouth twisted with the stroke

Stifling a whimper he struggles to speak, its slowed, intelligible though

Lift him  up, he still has some life.

A petit girl snatched by a rickety rusty automobile,

Rode by a disciple of the unscrupulous

All there was, was a sickening thud

Then she lay still, face up, funny showing, knickers shiny white, clean

Bruised but fresh, innocent, all in all, dead.

Sex kitten dripping.

Get a grip I say

Dignified is a lie, there is no such thing.

There is no humility in being numbered quietly, slowly, painfully, pathetically, or in a flush.

Hemingway noted that we all end the same;

Villains, kids, pretty girls, witches, saints, dictators, mockers and ugly ducklings.

Tribalists too. Stop connecting events. Nothing makes sense

Crime and punishment? Providence? Try another.

Or that we have been around as a universe fourteen point seven billion years

CMBR47

A hundred years each, on the higher side

Members in space are in a hurry to get away from each other, rot if you ask me

Study smaller particles, smaller than the atom, says the scientists

Generously speaking, so meaningless

Ecclesiastical.

 

 

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Author: Herman Clive Quotes.

Am Ugandan, Writer, Information Junkie, love Activism for Human rights and Freedom.

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