Finality of the Frailty of Life

Life is such an enigma
What can we possibly compare it to, but to itself?

Such an oddity to those who dwell on death yet endure life,
Enduring life a mere tool of exploration, and preparation for external transportation
Know it nothing at all.

In distant, far, far away lands, it's the mode of modernisation
Nostalgia reawakened by the repeated notion of moving on
And leaving our shadows behind
Forever are they chasing us, and catching us.
We as mere mortals will never escape the prelude to civilisation, the sin of the forefather,
And the sin of the world.

When memory fades we do not remember moments,
Only the memory of remembering them.
Death is not to remember anything at all,
Not even the unreachable notion of being alive.

All know life has an end, and that an infinite time is not for coming.
We all know we are fallible,
To anything the world could choose to throw at us.
And yet in a mad moment, one secluded moment,
We care to delve into our thoughts and desires
And shock tears through you as you suddenly accept,
Believe that we are not going to survive.
That we will die, it is a certainty
That I will one day lie in a coffin, or be burnt to ash, or simply forgotten.
How can I accept that consciousness will leave me?
And that I won't even know it is gone
We are all dead, for we are all dying.

To live is to die
Living is dying
And we are gone
Or we soon will be.