Epitaph

A poem

The time for this journey to end is near
I feel a call to depart
A weariness beyond bone and despair
An acceptance that feels like grace
My flesh may have been papier-mache, but my soul never was
I never had to prove my value, or trumpet my worth
Strength doesn’t need a display to be known
Validation was not perpetually sought by me, in the adoration of others
Silence, and quiet surety, were my way
It was never about performance or the praise received following
I could not conceal the truth, ever, to my chagrin at times
No one had to tell me I was decent, or show me benevolence
Many, in fact, did not
Though I did them no harm
Our capacity for cruelty is immeasurable
We take up humane causes in abstraction
Then enact the most banal pettiness
Even some I showed repeated kindness to, couldn’t bring themselves
To overthrow whatever predilection is in us for cruelty or indifference
To see nothing beyond our basest desires, or emotional turmoil
To get bored, or be unwilling to endure
Our flaws, like us, are impermanent
Whatever you see
All that you feel, everything you own
The sinews of you, the scaffolds, gristle and latticework
The miniscule bolts of electricity that form your opinions
Or pump blood through your tissue
They are figments
Rumors of your existence
Whispers in the wind
Blinks of an eye
What you think you mean
Your charades, your cruelties
The noble acts and profane
Are gone and forgotten, with you