A CUP OF KINDNESS YET

December 31, 2018 / John Grimmett

To disappear quietly,
To dematerialize.

To gradually cease to exist,
To come to an end.

To be no more,
To blur, dim, disperse.

After an arduous journey,
especially on a winter night
when all that surrounds you
are memories of summer,
of adventure looming,
of the entire world
and the empty heavens before you —
what could be more for wanting?

Only silence.

Now, what is surely nothing
is the sound of your mother’s voice
calling you home for dinner
and the knowledge
that you can’t become a part of the night
if only because it’s always been a part of you,
two small atoms of your tiny significance
fondly remembered
as you make your way
among the sound of heavy footsteps
and a nightingale calling somewhere —
lost, vanished —
in the vast beyond of nothingness,
of wanting,
of silence.

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