I walk through life,
writing countless stories.
Surely of thousands stories,
a dozen would be deaths.
Plucking death from life;
is plucking seed from a fruit.
What is there to gain?
We say life have no reason, purpose, nor excuses.
So what say we live?
Plucking the seeds;
I witness countless threads.
From the bitterness of fate;
to the sadness of departure;
down to the solitary of loneliness.
I fear fighting those who have nothing,
those with nothing find comfort in death.
But... is death truly nothing?
Life is full, but emptied to the eyes of death;
Therefore, I tend to see life as nothing
and death as nothing;
ultimately, seeing through life and death.
