Death’s Stare

When I look forward

I see the eyes of death pierce down

The narrowing stretch between I and he;

His mouth drooling as the scent of my anxiety

Touches his foul nostrils.


I am paralyzed with the eternal presence of his stare:

Where is the meaning if all we can do is wait?

But as I look down, the skull is not yet in my hands,

And my breath is still firmly in my lungs.


As the intensity grows too infinite,

I turn, using all the reason in my body

And face the fertile past:

My birth, my victories and my losses.

I smile,

As the hearth of my heart

Rekindles once more with the warmth of life.


I know, Death’s stare will never be the same again.


Sisyphus, My Friend

Nixon’s favourite word was purpose,

As it were to the Greeks.

It was ‘telos’ back then,

But it meant the same.

But how can we live our lives

According to one word

One Philosophy?

If it does not seem real?

If it is all so Sisyphean?

I do not have all of time like that poor man

To push my rock up and down an eternal,



But I think I have found a place for my rock to balance,

And now I have found the easiest route up

(Although it is not the route I always take…)

As Purpose is not the key.

“But what?” You say

“How can this be?

Why do you still push when you can escape?”

To this I must reply to you, my friend:

“I push because I can,

I’ll see you at the top.”