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Grim Reaper’s Symphony



As things did begin and come to be,

In universal symphony,

They seemed to seek an ending of self being,

Features changing like paintings rearranging,

When their point became unrecognizable to all others,

A change of traits to make fractal mothers,

We the apes claim it to die,

Maybe not getting our perception is why,



But what does that mean,

To think of things not yet seen,

Does a star falling apart not still exist?

Isn’t something there even after smashed by a fist?

In particle nebulas of dust,

The can now lays in the trash though holding is now bust,

Scattered over planets and pockets and place,

Discarded to break down in its final resting space,



Then the ape does too,

We are no different than the universe’s dew,

Breaking apart as festering rot seeks our flesh to come off,

Breaking down to dirt and pressuring to rock’s now aloft,

The insects feed on our bodies so slow,

Or we burn ourselves up and spread ash like snow,





So we don’t leave even after we are gone,

Your body sticks around after shot face down on your lawn,

Maybe that shows minds highest capacity in chemical,

Only seen now is that spirit is manageable,

We control life and can even choose to kill,

As endings are seen coming we put down wills,

This endless pull towards the fin,

The ending of the “Us,” that is in skin,



So there for the stars her skull shines of bone,

The perspective idea of the ape in form,

As super nova’s echoed she takes up the bow,

Striking each string with resounding flow,

Each change in feature she plays a new tone,

Each death brings on a fast flash of bone,

A picking begins with human life’s start,

Picking up speed at the creation of art,

The ape causing the greatest drama micro ever has brought,

The fiddle rings out chorus with screaming wails of thought,

The universe dances in new creation of form,

As it cast down the model dreamed up before,

The skeletal angel with wings deep as an abyss,

Looks down on each ape and lands a beautiful final kiss,











So that you can go back into the land,

Giving back strength to the land where you stand,

Energy to energy and notes continue to play,

Life’s making stories like a microcosm game of charade,

So don’t fear death join into her songs beautiful chords,

Create a sweet note so she is not bored,

One so different she never heard it before,

Long after the little ape isn’t recognizable anymore…

.







Sean Stutzman