Death

Death… and the ponderment of its wandering concern.

We cherish life, while in the same breath, deny its experience.

The container of society looms ever-present over shoulder.

The two angles: Death and Convention.

One, we live in fear of its finding us.

The other, in fear of never being able to find it for ourselves.

Our piece of life.

Life’s piece of us.

Judgment defines both sides.

Who we are now and what we’ll leave behind of us.

So desperate to live,

Or is it to prove?

The bad...

The good...

Basking in the wait of a curated mundane.

Yet, measuring our worth against a superficial frame.

Do we worry more about who we are, or who it is we will be?

Is it mortality we fear?

Or is it pain?

Based on what, in what, if always so loosely defined?

Is it devine?

Is it just pride?

Are we looking outward, or to the sky?

Outrunning our shadow.

In fact, it's the mirror.

Defining our worth based on a waste we don't want to measure.

What is faith when you can’t take false standards with you when you are placed...

In the earth,

Or there upon?

How would you define a soul's swan song?

What defines right?

Who defines wrong?

Survival, experience, or how we belong?

Keep going along, getting along, scratching backs, and breaking hearts on a wandering path once devoted to we wish not to ponder.

Waiting in the hope,

Running with the hope,

Praying to anything outside ourselves to assure,

That eventually we will choose to do what it takes to define, not defend, our own fate...

When it comes to our death.

~By Ly Anna~