|
Death. What is death? Is it the rebirth of a soul? A ray of light? The rejoicing of a spirit, Passing through the gates Of immortality? Or, is it the slowly, fading, Dying ember that reaches out it's dim light To the furthest corners of darkness, Of Hell? Is it the slow, but sure, Breaking down of ones mind? The hands of insanity grasping, For you? Is it being strapped down, And controlled against your will? Is your will really yours? You're raised a certain way, By certain people, And certain things are engraved, In your mind. Is 'your' opinion really that, Of someone who tells you to be yourself, Be different. Yet when you break free of the chains, That bind you to this cruel world, To the minds of everyone else, The surprisingly similar minds, Of everyone, Your punished. The world 'is' full of people But are they really different? Are they original, unique, independent? If everyone else is different, Than I must be the same. The same as a river that flows, That gives life, Yet slowly pines away, till it has no more, To give. No more life to give, Life that forces ones 'unique' soul, To the brink of insanity? Forces it to the edge of a cliff, Where one can turn, And follow the world on it's head on collision, With reality. Or jump, and plummet to ones death, To forever walk amongst the others, That dared to rebel. If I stand on that cliff right now. Death before me, and behind, life, Rubbing it's bloody hands together, waiting, For another victim to penalized. I jump, And face the fall to freedom, Rather than be lumped back in, With all the fools, That believe their all different, But in reality, They're all the same. © Nichole M, 1999 |