Sometimes I wonder why people keep waking up in the morning
To live my life, to repeat the futile tasks of surviving
Why is it we still live?
In a battle against Death we won't win
We still fight
We fight for survival, for wealth, for pleasure
Why are we still fighting
When eventually, we'll lose anyways?
Is the battle worth it?
To see the wrath of greed controlling the world.
Stemming from the strawberry-sweet flavour of the innocent
To the angelic cries of grief and sorrow
All in the name of a filthy dumpster of rising numbers.
For a few, at least.
To see life perish would certainly be a relief
The clean removed of their pain
The dirty punished accordingly
To see all returning to nothing.
A carnival of perfection on display.
Is it worth the fight, still?
Why is it we still fight to keep the demon of balance alive?
Why is it we still live?
YOU ARE READING
Death-The Other Side
PoetryIs it refuge, or is it home? Is it treachery, or is it paradise? Is it hell, or is it heaven? Is it even worth avoiding in the first place? Death. The ones who have experienced it cannot speak it. The ones who live cannot confirm it.
