Took

May 28 2012

He took his life

for granted.

One day at a time.

Far too serious.

He took his life

like a thief in the night

absconds.

From his friends, his wife

his God.

As if it wasn’t his

to take, or give

or even live out,

unentitled

to meaning, or happiness.

He took his life

with him, when he went.

Empty flesh

waxy, heavy

grotesque

left behind,

as if all the lightness

had gone.

I consider how unlikely

consciousness is,
how priceless he was.

The vanishing chance

of sentient beings.

The coincidence

of lovers meeting

time after time.

The million-to-one odds

of a long-shot sperm, a good swimmer,

who had earned 
the single-cell version

of immortality.

And before all that,

a Goldilocks planet

circling a yellow sun.

Perhaps he thought too deeply
felt too much,
was too self-aware.
So he took his life

with him,

who knows where.