One of my main thoughts, that come and go, are atheists–their worldview. Hard to imagine believing the grave is ultimate. Do they deny death, ignore it, re[press it, rationalize it? Anyway…
“Futility, futility” the Preacher cries.
“Generation, generation toils and dies.
What’s happened then will happen now,” with wails and sighs.
The sun goes up; the sun goes down. The candle’s lit
And then it’s out. Macbeth: “Life struts and frets—” No wit
Or tears or heartfelt plea erase the last obit.
“Life’s a walking shadow? The way to dusty death?”
“A time to love” then soon utter hate under breath?
Futility of chasing wind and then, bequeath?
The Speaker’s wrong. Macbeth may live a shadowed stage
Where life is bankrupt and worth an idiot’s wage
And all there is sunrise, sunset, from age to age.
“The eons come and go,” my aging soul’s hindsight.
The way to dusty death is not the final rite.
That empty tomb of soot is now eternal light.