On the other side of this or that

On the other side of this or that, may or may not contain the fulfillment of my dreams.

Dreams on the other side of this or that, not borne out in this sphere of reality.

Dreams that I experience as I hear the beat of my heart ringing in my ears.

Ringing in my ears that reminds me of how ever present is the last beat of my heart.

So loud is the sound of the finite that carries the night and so disguised as sleep is the ringing in my ears.

On the outer parts of nowhere I reside within the captivity of a breath of air.

A single breath of air that separates the present and past tense of my being.

When will the morning come where other sounds will drown out the beat of my heart that is ringing in my ears?

Within the inner most parts of my mortality dwell the contour of the worms.

Worms eating away at my lifelessness and gorging themselves on my rot and decay.

On the other side of this or that, her soft but firm voice is my inherency.

Contained within the may or may not be, is her smile endowed just for me.

The days soar like a bird in flight.

The night roars like a lion about to devour its prey.

Beat after beat ringing in my ears constantly reminding me that the flame of the cremator is nearby.

Pull up your trousers, you drop-pants and behave like an adult person.

No one wants to see your backside in the limelight but the articulation of an inventive mind.

The child desperately wants to be seen and heard, and always in the wrong way.

On the other side of this and within the deepest regions of that, may or may not be the realization of my dreams.

Dreams of self-realization, happiness, completion, and her arms lovingly embracing me.

Hammering and pounding the life out of my life on the thrashing floor.

Blending and stirring the finite with the unknown.

The day is here; the day is gone, and the longing is still alone.

The sound of my heart beating in my ears letting me know just how fragile life is.

In the approaching future, I see no practical future expect my absorption into dust in the looming valley of the nonentity.

The nonentity that I have been since the moment of my conception in an inhospitable house.

On the other side of this or that, awaits rest from the incessant ringing in my ears of the beating of my heart.

This I have hope as the hostile becomes aloof within the cold confines of my decease and demise.

The constant ringing in my ears is overpowered by the howl of nothingness in this reality of silhouettes and shades.

Silhouettes and shades of never hearing her call my name or delighting in the warmth and softness of her touch.

Tick by unremitting tick, time yells at me to crash dive into the gulf of the abyss.

What is the rush; the deep hole is my birthday present from the instance of my conception.

And the beat of my heart is the wrapping paper of my gift incessantly peeling away.

No afterlife, no paradise, no kiss from her lips.

And no more sound of my heart beating ringing in my ears.

On the other side of this or that, may or may not contain the fulfillment of my dreams.

Maybe, and perhaps not.