The brevity of life
is so incredibly horrid;
they say it's what makes life sweet,
I've tasted it - it was sour.
It was putrid, repulsive.
I'd rather eat a flaming bagel
with protruding knives
than be up close and personal
with the brevity of life again.
One flick of your switch,
and you're snuffed out.
Death doesn't care of the plans you've made,
of the aspirations and dreams you had.
It only cares to claim another victim;
to feed its uncanny desire
to mess with the mind of the living,
to make them question.
If I could kill death,
I would kill it with compassion, kindness.
(Isn't that what God did, in body form?)
I would approach subtly, yet pleading softly,
as a noble night would be chivalrous:
"Please don't take the ones I love.
Please don't take me.
I'm unsure of what's to come of me."
As the terrified wayfarer that I am,
death would look me in the eye
and deliver the final, crushing blow: no mercy.
Never mind a shield of armor;
it will not save me here.
The armor is but a tactic, anyway,
to appear tougher than I actually am.
Now, I have discussed death
and the thoughts that I have on demise.
But we have yet to discuss God;
who I believe is the beautiful, opposing
force of the universe
that likely has a mesmeric and radiant
solution to overcome
our unwilling grapple with death.
The story it to be continued.