Until it doesn’t


Frida Jackson


How do we seize the day,

without fearing the inevitable night?


How do we have hope,

in a world where entropy is forever increasing?


How do we escape this labyrinth of suffering,

without fading into the maze of non-existence?


How do I stay whole,

when I’m bound to fall apart?


The crocuses may bloom in Brooklyn,

but the snow will come back.


The carousel keeps on turning.

Until it doesn’t.