Hamlet's Sleep

Mere succession of unfortunate events
Occasionally highlighted
By intermissions of sunshine
Or white lies to stay relevant.

     Why forget the pain
     Clear indication
     That our lungs fill
     With poisoned air

     That our being
     Grows weary of
     Our abuse

     That we approach
     Our inexorable
     end.

          Forget these things
          With the false certainty
          That better things are to come

          Pushing our minds
          To the brink of insanity
          To the edge of an infinity
          Of sadness.

Why do we search
Our own hurting?
Why entertain the ghosts
Crowding our hellish nightmares?
Why leave a legacy of dreams
That amount to nothing
     and will soon the specks
          in History's dust?

I would much rather
be a privileged member
Of Hamlet's macabre sleep

A dissolving essence

                       in eternal

                                        slumber.