The unobtainable unknowingness of Death
The pretense of Life
Mass and space one with another
What happens to me in the Unknown?
In the cascade of Life's dome
I feel safe and secure
Until prevalenceness seeks and beseeches once more.
To most, Death is a bringer to an end
To us, Death is nothing more than a test.
"Frail and obscene" they argue
"A feign and Cretaceous" we say
Because our views are so
We party and celebrate till no more
Indulging in the succulent confrontation with Death
And replacing our bodies with jouissance
Death is nothing more than a harbinger of Death.
YOU ARE READING
Cognitive internal inversions/a soliloquy to the Earth.
PoetryA collection of my poems.
