The Beauty of our Doom

There’s some unique beauty

In being a creature doomed,

In finding the perfect harmony

Between first breath and tomb.

What is this word called “legacy”

They speak so highly of?

There is no lasting legacy

But that of dust of blood.

.

There’s something so artistic

In knowing this won’t last.

All that’s built will crumble,

All that stands will crash,

Caving down upon itself

Into that final form

Of bowed fetal position

We first came from when born.

.

And when my bones are dust,

And when my blood is dried,

There’s some peace in wondering

If soul will be satisfied.

.

All that’s started must end-

All that lives must die-

The beauty in our doom

Is that we don’t know why

And still keep living on,

Adding to finite song,

Still searching for some way

Beauty can be prolonged.