To Death

That never sweetly comes.
An arrogant boatman,
Carried by the currents of nurture, love and loss,
Blown by the reliable tradewinds of time,
Pulled to shore by the waves of indignity.
You'll believe suicide can be brave.

We all talk of curtain's close,
the actors retreat.
But the stage remains.
The seats too.
Empty.

From the lowliest, to heroes.
Black suits mean no glory.
It's washed away on the pallid face.
Poignant poems and posies
and the sombre horse drawn hearse
just another sunset in a war.

"Is it dark?" I wonder,
"When you have no concept."
And as my doll-like figure, fragile,
stumbles druggedly, I know.
Soon I'll find out.
I'm scared.
Soon I'll find out.

The Trouble

There’s no God in the wild,
only spirits getting riled,
Life and flesh all defiled,
I only hope my death’s in style.

Because one thing: it’s certain.
Sunset and the curtains.
Life and death always flirtin’.
The fleeting life of a person.

The dark path, ever paved.
There’s nobody getting saved.
In hindsight, having felt is so depraved.
There’s no feeling in the grave.

Every breath huffing, puffing.
all the hard living and roughing,
all the guilt from the bluffing.
no one told me it means nothing.

Thoughts through my head,
trails I have led.
True word I’ve said.
Empty, now I’m dead.

So why is it worth it?
Trying to be perfect
people act like they deserve it
when they’re as impermanent as the rest.
Now I’m at rest
I truly detest
those undergoing the test
and still living
under illusion,
so much confusion,
what does it mean?
If I told you nothing,
you would be green!
Envy overcoming your essence,
If it means nothing,
why do I suffer these lessons?
What is God
If not the memory of my impressions?
if not the quintessence?
of everything, every soul, every being?
if it means nothing,
then what I am seeing?
Is any of it real?
This, the trouble I feel.