Why am I made to perceive

The apparent, the not-real?

If nothing in this world is made to last

Then why am I designed

To experience the sorrow

That comes from loss?

Surely joy and sorrow

Are not an end

But a reason…

To contact a form of existence

That is unaffected

By the ephemeral…

I close my eyes

And feel the ache

“If only the conditions

Had been conducive to permanence…”

I think to myself

Thoughts I know are futile

Nothing is blessed with permanence

“Always” and “forever” are the

Dreams we see when asleep

In the warm embrace of a mute existence

That existence, that permanence

Will meet you only as your silence

It’s not the loss of contact with another

That causes you sorrow

It’s the loss of contact

With yourself.