In a quiet world, what is lost, what is gained?
It cares little of how you learn, love, consume, and die in its great vastness.
It, too, will die, but it cannot not morn what it doesn’t know, what it will never know. Once there, then not for all that is to come. A breath of its own. We will look up, as we all do, at the unending above to which we will return, and we will question how to live. Some guide. Some manifest. How to learn, how to love, how to consume, and how to die. To a quiet sky. Begging the impossibility of us.
The stars don’t question; they simply are.
You question yet simply are.
No eyes are deeming you harm, anguish, or salvation. Meaning is made, not found; the gods were made, not found. You owe them only as much as is required, to live, certainly. Enough to allow yourself salvation, by the power of you or a greater. Either is in your hands. You decide if you have lived a life worth saving.
Live guilted or live at peace.
You are:
The only true power.
The only caring eyes.
The god of your peace or damnation.