Op. 1

What then is time? 
The entirety of the ephemeroid’s life 
is encompassed within the span of a week. 
Its conception of eternity 
is longer than mine, 
and its existence is beautiful. 
Its life seems a sacrifice to beauty.

    Pure beauty can exist only transiently. 
It fades instantaneously with its conception.


--The truth is that I do not believe in the spirit; 
the decay of the body is the only verifiable truth. 
Yet I plunge myself remorselessly 
into the abyss as an offering.
I do not know what it is 
I offer myself to, 
and ultimately it won’t matter. 

Life is lived:

Sans-sun
Sans-flowers
Sans-earth
Sans-air
Sans-sky
Sans-breath
Sans-life
Sans-love
Sans- death
Sans-dreams
Sans-moon

Sunlessly the sun shines; flowerlessy the flowers blossom; earthlessly the earth exists; airlessly the air pervades; skylessly the sky engulfs; 

breathlessly we breath; lifelessly we live; lovelessly we love; deathlessly we die; dreamlessly we dream; moonlessly…

What then, is this life that I should expend my being to preserve it?