Poetry
by Phil Brown
THE TROUBLE WITH ETERNITY
I had a dream about the afterlife:
I died quite unexpectedly
Although it is, of course, to be expected,
And I materialised in the middle of a party
And got stuck with a crushing bore
I had met the week before
And talking to him I lost the will to live
Which made sense now …
And there, on a cloud,
Were all the dullards I have ever known
Smiling and waving,
Not drowning
I realised with a kind of dread
That I would see them now perpetually.
The Desiderata states
That even the dull and ignorant
Have their story;
But who the fuck wants to hear it?
And I thought to myself
That Nietzsche was right after all
When it comes to eternal recurrence
And maybe he’s there too
Somewhere in that endless ether
Repeating himself and repeating himself
And repeating himself
And that’s what is meant by ad infinitum
In that apparently infinite beyond
It will be
“How are you?” and
“How are you?” again
And I will reply “Fine”
And keep on saying it.
The sun will rise and never set
Rivers will flow and won’t run dry
And if there is a television there
You won’t be able to turn it off
And there will presumably be angels
In shining raiment
And I wonder - is there dry cleaning?
And Jesus? And Buddha? And Zoroaster?
Who made the cut?
The promise of life eternal is a tad hollow.
I mean, it’s enough already
And you just want to get some sleep
The trouble with eternity
Is that it just goes on, forever
by Phil Brown - 23/11/2020
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