It Only Is

The stars shine in a particular way.

It is spectacular and frightening.

It is damning and inviting.

It is the beginning.

It is the end.

In the void we are all one.

Does time not also pass on?

Each second a loss without funeral.

When we gaze out into the ether,

are we not staring into the eyes of the dead?

Centuries upon centuries—lost, never known.

When there is no one to say its name

does the dark still exist?

If nothing remains to acknowledge what has been,

what is, or what will be…

then how can it be?

Does it accept that—

It only is.