Black line

"Black line" poetry by Roshan James, Kitchener Waterloo, Ontario, Canada


I wrestled with the idea of death when I was seven years old

I remember lying awake, with my eyes still closed

Trying not to blink or breathe

Trying to picture what it would feel like to not be here


All I could feel was empty

A hollowness and a quietness terrifyingly never-ending


When I think about it now in its most physical sense,

I see a black line with nothing on either side,

and no room for anything in between

Without a beginning or an end point

An immortal indication that I was “here” for this narrow time

That I continue not as myself, but as a scratch across the starry shores

A thinness of being – but, even so, still a being

Sentience persisting stubbornly in the search for what’s next

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