If a moment didn't matter

I'm afraid of dying
of locking grips with the great unknown
and letting my hands seep
into the abyss

the thought of seeing myself wilt
fade and wither away
a quivering sack of mulch
on doddering legs
the sharpness of my mind
thinned to the point of crumbling
against the steady file of time
is almost as gruesome as abstractions come

but if that radiant light
did not set into a sea
that seems endless to those adrift
would basking in the light of day
still cradle and nurture
urgency in the pursuit of joy?

or would the sight
of an eternally burning orb
desiccate the soothing touch
of cool water on fevered skin
and the teeming colours
in cursive landscapes
sink below the surface
too deep to be sought or seen
when there is an endless age
of apathy
and arid uniformity to be endured