the inexorable march of time will grind our weary bones to dust and in its wake a great shadow looms overhead
a specter of rebirth
a cyclical obsolescence
to no end, life from loam, to no end
don't you find comfort in inevitability that one day your organs are evicted and worms will squat their place?
that one day, there will be no days as the sun explodes?
that one day, no day, the cosmos freeze over?
and nothing will be
and nothing will be serene