Fade

We are disgusting.

In death, life,
And in life, death.
Cyclical and eternal,
Creation and destruction
Devouring one another in overlapping waves of entropy,
All that is now will one day cease to be.
At least, in the form in which we see it at present.
Every single thing we have ever known, ever worked towards, ever created,
Will die with time.
What some of us see as so important and significant is utterly meaningless in the face of it's own temporary nature;
All of our artificial concepts of 'good' and 'evil' and 'right' and 'wrong',
Of 'importance' and 'significance', all will die with us.
Only then will the truth be clear, when there is nobody left to bear witness;
We have always been nothing. Nothing more than cosmic dust which stuck together in the most unfortunate of arrangements.
An oddity, an accident, a mistake.
We never needed to be, never should have been, and never deserved to be.
And yet we are.
Worse still, we cling to our humanity so pathetically, striving every which way to escape from a death which was always more of a gift than a curse, but one which we refused to accept.
We will fade, we will die, we will rot.
And in doing so we will pave the way for another mistake, for another life which does not want or need to exist.
From the writhing mobs of maggots slowly breaking down our flesh, to the bacteria thriving in our empty eye sockets,
To the carrion creatures which make hunting grounds of our hollow ribcages,
Our death will beget greater life.
We can only hope that the life which follows us has more sense than we do.