There are no monuments built for ants.
The gravestones kept up
bear no better testament to time
than those whose battered, weathered topplings
There truly are no songs for the dead.
We almost can touch them, taste them,
They are still so long gone as to be
intelligible to the living.
They are only a moment,
a piece of matter,
a chord played quickly and forgotten.
Which perhaps is why
So many choose to take that flying leap
and release themselves
to the greatest of unknowns..
the nothingness of life.
The vanishing point of no return.
Godspeed R. W.