A plumb dead stop

A plumb dead stop
 
Call me Ishmael these days.  Cleaving uneasily
to a coffin lid upon these high, rolling seas.
 
A mighty joke, said Meher, is life.
Share it with me, Lord. 
 
I could use a good laugh.
These stage lights have been on for ages
 
and I’m yearning now for a darkness
as I move toward another drowning
 
which seems little more than a change of clothes.
Meanwhile, I plead for annihilation,
 
but all I ever get is death.
This spinning planet appeared first to be fun,
 
but then the motion sickness set in.
A long dose of nothingness, just about now,
 
would seem to be what the doctor ordered –
the pendulum coming to a plumb dead stop.
 
O child, you can always depend upon God,
but not to exempt you from your destiny.