Death Aesthetic

 

Taking it all in;

that ten-thousand-foot view.

It’s amazing

how beautiful

a storm is

from a distance.

The giant swell

of billowing thunderheads.

The twisting maelstrom

of dark purples

and sickly greens.

The lightning

and peals of far off thunder

that stir something primal

in our souls.

 

Something akin to awe.

Something not unlike

watching the Great Dragon,

which is called “Death”

stride passed,

knowing that everything

in His path

faces obliteration.

The true face of existence.

The strange juxtapose

of great human consciousness

and intellect,

and our infinitesimal physical being,

dwarfed,

dominated,

and destroyed

by every whim of nature.

 

The hurricane,

and the tornado.

The ice storm,

and the torrential rain.

The typhoon,

the monsoon,

the mudslide,

the forest fire,

the earthquake,

the tsunami,

and the Sun.

We are barely consequential.

Not really even notable

in the grand scheme of things,

but our consciousness

still finds beauty

in the form

of our destructor.

Awe and reverence,

captured in the death aesthetic.

 

We know our time will come,

and in the midst of the storm,

we will curse its existence,

but for now,

we admire it

from a distance,

knowing full well

the wake of tears

and broken lives

that it will leave.

Saying,

“I wouldn’t want to be over there.”

Placating to the obvious,

as if to deny

our primal fascination.

 

The storm

is a part of the universe.

While we

seem cloistered on this one rock,

watching Death move

across the landscape

and compelled

to watch it

come on,

we seem unaware

that we are experiencing

the visceral meaning

of existence.

 

 

HG – 2022

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