"It is time to go." ~Einstein
We have a most unhappy tendency
To refer phenomena to ourselves.
When lives all around us appear to live
Briefly and, having emerged from nothing,
Resubmerge themselves forever, we think
That must be the nature of our own lives,
Which of course can only be the reverse,
Awareness always there, absence never.
Behind the event horizons of selves,
None of us can peer into extinction.
Consciousness allows no information
About its own death to escape. We know
This now, what gravity can do to light,
But we rarely contemplate all the things
That vanish into a black hole, as if
Behind the curtain of too much, nothing.
Lots of stuff going on in here, always
What was and cannot ever telecast
Anything of what it is not to be.
Mere mortal to you, this never is me.