Perhaps death is just a brief transition From one hell to another– A disconnection from the passion ruled tempest Of crazed harried turmoil ridden Slavery to insatiable desires Changed for a maudlin endless Icy cold and mist-filled vast barren Nothingness of interminable boredom. Who are we to know Even up until the very moment Of the last agonizing breath We labor to bring into our Dying bodies in that last Long pause between Here and there – Between the misunderstood and unknown – What it is that really IS?
There will be fear, For certainly almost every soul, No matter how hardy and stout-hearted, Faces THIS moment With some form of timid trepidation. But will there be peace Upon that final surrender? Will the terrors and pain, The guilt ridden caustic memories For ever be loosed – Leaving naught but the happy joys Of serene pandemonium?
Oft I ponder in the many Frenzied placid moments When mind and spirit Wage the terrible gyring Dance of irrational-rational thoughts Of this dire discursive debate What it is that really IS – And what minuscule, irrelevant Thoughtless blundering tepid role Is mine.
This is emphatically one of the most outstanding poems I have read till date. The opener was sharp. Death may be simply from one hell ( living) to the next. The succeeding lines from third to last are no less spectacular,and I wonder what has set you to thinking. Language,especially metaphors, is standard usage in our art, and you are aptas far as I have read. The tone and imagery are vivid to me too. You must have been in the mood or situation for this for a while.
Slavery to insatiable desires Maudlin endless icy cold barren nothingness of interminable boredom
Slavery to insatiable desires
Maudlin endless icy cold barren nothingness of interminable boredom
Splendid expression. Tao and Buddhism approve.
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