What of Life
Life is for the living
Death is for the dead;
I am alive still,
Not at home but in nothingness instead.
The more I try to love life,
The more I hate death,
For life is a hope waiting to be fulfilled,
When dead the desire becomes stealth.
Life can be manipulated;
Cannot be changed,
What is ahead stays,
From it, one cannot be estranged.
The more I am obsessed with death,
The more I am in fear of life,
Constantly cautious about events,
The understanding I can be in strife.
The wait is an appropriate action,
or else living will be a distraction.
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