Departure From Home - the Musings of a Moron Final

Allow me to ask you this: What is the point in striving? For what purpose should one seek the bliss? Whilst relentless is the sorrow, all else is fleeting Thus, fabricating the weak line, which separates living from surviving Making one wonder, why bother when all is already lost? One may choose not to see, but if one can fathom that one and all are born from the filth, to the filth they all shall go be Denying the urge to spree, only more misery it shall bring.

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Keith O.J. Hunt

Date: 4/2/2014 4:32:00 PM

Ah, but the question you pose is the ultimate question --- your words are too wrought with death; yet you are alive! Live! Enjoy your gifts!

The First Born The First Forgotten
Date: 4/2/2014 4:50:00 PM

Also, thank you, my good man. Beware that, come what may, your words shall stay, with me, in my early grave. For in there, answers, I shan't crave. But peace ought to be mine, when having feelings in a flat line.

The First Born The First Forgotten
Date: 4/2/2014 4:48:00 PM

Yes, in a way I am, in fact, alive. My heart beats and pumps blood through my body. My sinapses are still here, broken, but here. I breath, hear, see and I sense. I guess this is what one may call to be alive. But, is this really what is to be alive? I mean, this cn't be right... Just can't... I beg to differ. There may be, has to be, something else, something more. Something worth. Anything other than just this... Yes, in a sense I am alive following this ideia, but until when and how many more are "living" as I am? One of these say I may just get enough courage to bend to the other side once more. It seems like that every world I tell to her, to the one that gave me this wretched life, I am nearing my end more and more.