Howard Firkin
Now, let's be clear on this, one day you stop
and you, and all you ever did or said,
the whole part-world you carried in your head,
is gone. The bucket pours out every drop;
your last breath goes the same way as your first.
There is no bright, white light. You do not rise.
You're only elevated—citizen
of true democracy: Oblivion,
where all are equal in its chamber's eyes,
all equally forgotten, best and worst.

But something somewhere stirs... no, nothing stirs.
The looked-for vanishes, like smoke in air.
But love? Does love... no, nothing else occurs,
as you will prove when you've arrived not there.