Man-whose entrance is a womanly thing-
has a short and troubled existence.
He starts out like a precious frail flower and soon enough will wither like a flower.
He watches his life like watching his shadow as the sun sets behind him.
Through it all, God gazes at him and makes him think:
contrive meanings, chase relevance, assume justifications.
Who can take the refuse and turn it into perfumed delights? Nobody!
And it is all set down in the shallow artifice of space, the narrative fiction of time,
the beating of time, time out, out of time, end time.
His life is bounded by walls, guarded with vehemence.
He will not escape the custodianship of finiteness.
So why not keep a little distance for a while?
Give him and yourself a break.
Let him relax a bit.
Give him some time to recount his wealth, even gathered in a shopping cart,
and anticipate his fire-ing.
Tags: humans
Fragments 
Further discussion is welcome...