FRESH
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED]
BY RUI CARLOS DA CUNHA
Welcome to this life. It could be the Afterlife. We would never know.
How uncertainty allows for the production of values, of sense.
Ask newborn babies, what is the meaning of life. Eat, drink, shit, piss, cry.
Transcend adulthood. The basic necessities. Clothing, shelter, dough.
How is this fresh hell different than heaven on earth? The birth of a child.
Even sound logic can't make conjecture certain, such proof makes gold dense.
Little is certain but the weight of a baby, once made clean and dry.
Look past the magic of this phenomenal world. Grains of sand count time.
Indefinitely, infinitesimal, watch from zero to wild.
Solitudinal. Alone in the universe. Bigger than you think.
Transcend wickedness. Climb the mountain beyond lies, beyond deception.
Haunted by the past. Imagination takes hold. Of an eye, the blink.
Instantly over. No time to play a new game. Before conception.
Suffer the threshold between belief and knowledge. Fresh hell is sublime.