The infinite curse

Infinite curse

Infinity.

A fine place to

set up a lifetime.

A grain of sand has more cachet.

 

And what do I get.

Eighty years if I’m lucky.

Ninety if I’m not.

And how many years

are there in infinity?

How many lives?

 

If I knew I was

going to be this insignificant

I wouldn’t have bothered

learning to walk and talk,

or going to the bathroom on my own.

 

But of all the substances

that ever were,

here I am.

And of all the times

that have ever been

and ever will be,

this one’s happening now.

 

The coincidence is killing me.

 

By John Grey

 

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