Nicaragua 4

She watches over the dead. They sleep deeply in the caverns of their coffins, but she watches. Ages rise and fall, the living come and go, but she stays. What do we know of immortality? She stands tall and strong, the nexus of death, her eyes serene but strong. She is like the iron goddesses of days past; the gatekeeper to the ethereal kingdom. She will stand, she will endure. Humans will flail around, their pernicious behavior rewarded by a spot in her company. She knows what death means, and where it leads. Does it lead to euphoria; to an exhumed time of good? Poets and philosophers will die among the rest; their search for truth and beauty yields nothing. What is a life worth? What can we, such fragile and frail creatures do in our brief time on this earth? Her stoic glare will continue, despite our futile attempts to join her in eternity. Perhaps most will find themselves in ultimate apathy lying tired at her graceful, pure feet. Then again, we wonder, perhaps some will discover at last the decisive truth. Is that what a human life is for? We beat incessantly on holy books, pouring over them for an answer. Conceivably, we should not search for an answer in texts written in ancient times. It is a race, to find truth before our bodies fall broken in the breadth of her trenchant gaze.