DEATH (Poem)
Death was the ant,
fragments of stone
that the sand spits out,
sacrifice of the already vanquished tree.
Ant with bones, metal
that escapes into the void.
The thread of yellow antennae
climbs to the rooftop
after the cloud of light.
It offers the constellation,
the silent warning
to escape the lightning.
Image created by me using a prompt in Chat GPT.
Such a strange ant and even a stranger poem...
Let's see what strikes most of all:
Death was the ant... which one? There are so many and Death... is still my best friend. I never saw him appear with the looks of an ant.
That ant is more like AI, what Chat GPT spat out, did you notice that?
How can yellow antennae climb to the top of the roof?
That silent warning sound like the alarm towers we have and should be gone by now and kept silent for months, all of a sudden they are used again. The warning everyone ignores, we simply continue with our lives.
Is it possible to escapt the lighting or at least the void?
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Life is a constant ceasing to exist.
Death is inevitable. The ant is like death, silent, almost imperceptible until it bites you.
I wouldn't call it imperceptible. Nor would I say it stands for death, but who knows, maybe some multiples are like that, just like some people. You only need a few to end it all. It sounds more like staying alive is an incredible struggle and therefore not even worth fighting for. A lazy person would certainly not do so, nor would a tired person. The same applies to depressed and listless people, so there is not much left to fight for a future and therefore life.
It's good to read some poetry again. To break the brains, to wonder about what is meant or better: to place the words in the own mind.
Thank you for being you and spreading these words.
I hope you are well and you created some space for you.
🍀❤️
@wakeupkitty
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Thank you for being part of the process and the art. We continue creating.
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Our birth is a steady progression toward the end. We collect experiences and hard-won lessons, navigating life’s major shifts and minor details—working our way toward the grave.