Rapture

Do you fear?
Do you fear as I do?
That quicksand in my stomach,
at the very thought:
disease stricken bodies,
torn flesh in the cracks of our teeth.
And I fear,
that warm hum of silence,
as the world stops turning,
dilapidated buildings, crumbling statues,
withering, decaying, failing.
And I fear,
that last slow hollow emptying of air,
from lungs that once raised the chests,
of young men and women,
the blue faces, purple lips, and shut eyes,
six foot holes, steel bins, toe tags.
And I fear,
to come to two paths,
and choose poorly,
to look back and find that I have changed,
or to see that I have not changed at all.
So I ask, Do you fear?
Do your fear as I do,
of broken hearts and limbs,
of long dirt naps,
or following wrong paths,
so much so that you forget,
to ever live at all.