Breach

I am bare; entropy skinned to misery. I do not see the point of death, If death is never consciously met. And when instead We revert to less than an abstract glint; A pregnant thought that was never dreamt. And when our flesh returns to earth, As residual of insentient rebirth. The unborn know death when there is nothing to know. The voice inside still digs out to grow For perspective as seen from infinity below, With all this eternity and nowhere to go.