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.
Copyright © Dedu Son | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment