Eschatalogical Epiphany

Is everybody's life a tragedy?

Maybe Unamuno got it right,

Digesting the insight of

Hieronymous Bosch

That we all refuse to see,

Lying to each other in playful animation,

Denying sorrow, dark blinders

Allowing us to sing the sweet mystery of it all.

Where did we all go wrong?

Can't help being born,

Blessed, they say, with eyes to see,

And everything else that works,

More or less, until that moment

When about age five or six, it dawns on us:

Hey, wait a minute!

You mean I am going to die?

And so is everyone else, little man!

Mother, father, sister, brother,

How can you all leave me?

Just when I got to know you.

Arms no longer around me,

No more dancing around the room.

I sit alone and tremble,

Missing you, longing for you

Until the memory fades

And the music is no longer heard.

Milt Ehrlich