Death, death, “until death do us apart,” as they say.
From what, you may ask, as the question often equals something that mimics a grand haze.
A gag, a gift, unholy, holy, and something that drifts apart but yet stays.
I am to be one with myself, yet to explore another day.
I shall exist, remain, and without my shadow of doubt, I’ll remain in malaise.
I see myself so I feel now, while cast away, but I finally found a fucking way!
To be or not to be, is what is abstruse.
To do or not to do, is what you often choose.
“Think not, what the scientist says,” speaks the curious theist.
“Think not, what the woo-woo says,” exclaims the angry atheist.
You live, you die, but ya can’t even remember your transit from birth, how so lame.
You die, you live, but ya can’t even go back and proclaim, after you realize this isn’t so insane.
You lie, you lie, death be told; it is all alive as you live, you live; as the universal consciousness survives…
Today you sit and ponder, without nothing to be said but a complex question.
Yesterday you lie there wondering about tomorrow, and why you have the need for detestation.
Tomorrow you seek the answer to something that is unanswerable due to your current infestation.
What’s death when you can’t remember birth and what’s life when you can’t remember death?
The ultimate query is merely at hand, don’t ya understand?
—End of Poem “Death?”