Each lives within their own shore,
edge, or border.
Let no one convince you otherwise.
Everyone in isolation, enbodied as in a bubble.
There is a rim to your bubble, it is true,
And tention to your Sphere of self containment.
Therein personified exists the spark, yet,
All live within the confines of but one certainty,
Which is the universal absolute; Death.
Beyond this certainty? Who can say.
Maybe the heat of the spirit combusts life,
And sustenance helps maintain survival.
But none should take for granted their
Next thought, breath, desire or heartbeat.
Life itself is not a right.
No one is in control of their own mortality.
Biology comes with both a risk and a zero,
And each of us hangs by the same thread
As those two.
Life itself perches us over the pit of doom…
Copyright 2018 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved.