Nothing Leaves Nothing

Nothing leaves nothing. We are nothing.

In the sun and air we delay ourselves a bit
From the unbreathable darkness that will weigh us down
Imposed by the humble ground
Postponed cadavers that procreate.
Laws made, statues seen, odes finished -

Everything has its own grave. If we, flesh
To which an intimate sun gives blood, if we have
A sunset, why don't they?
We are stories telling stories, nothing.

- Pessoa