Does everything stop,
With last look and last breath?
Or sky is waiting for us,
And there is life after death.

When our heart stops beating,
I hope this is not the end.
Maybe there is a long shiny stairs,
Which leads us to some mysterious land.
Maybe that land has its great ruler.
Can it be Devil or God?
Maybe that place is a beautifull,
Or wasteland covered in mud.

If someone was an evil person,
And he couldn't stand a sound of the church bell.
Will he have a good afterlife,
Or devil will open the gates of hell.
Is hell an awful, scary place,
Fire and danger at every spot?
Or it is land full of temptation,
But one mistake can cost a lot.

Is there a peaceful heaven,
For people who were honest and nice?
Will God embrace its believers,
And show them a path to paradise?
Heaven should be a happy place,
Amazing land, where everything is straight.
Everyone ˝ lives˝ full life,
There is not  jealousy and hate.

No one knows what happens after death,
We can only wonder and guess.
Is death same as game over,
Or our spirit is endless?

I do not wish that my name be remembered,
but purely the things that I have done
and the things that I helped make.
For if I may change the world,
I hope only that I can change it enough
So that the future holds reliance on my existence.
So that humanity may be looking at the results of me
And the change that I helped make happen
One day.
My name is hardly relevant
And I do not care for its remembrance,
Merely the effects of its naming.
I care that there is importance
In the fact that the name even existed.
Not so much the name itself.
I care that it was necessary in the altering of something larger than even humanity itself.
But with so little time,
All I can be is curiously passionate
And hope that that is enough
To have done what I could have
By the time that my name no longer exists.

currently i am not

     sad

        depressed

               lonely
  
alone

     self-loathing

             insecure
  
heartbroken

     nor breaking hearts


and that makes me feel quite
    
out of
             
               place
because i am surrounded by
  scars

     and tear-streaked (beautiful) faces

  bruised knees drawn up to chests

     dark empty rooms
  broken mirrors

     and trashcans filled

  with crumpled lists of mistakes
and if i could, 
i would take all the

  scars

    tears

     and lonely nights

from the hearts that are broken
                  
                      or breaking
and i wish i could
 cloak The Light i’ve found

    (or did It find me?)

      around cold shoulders

 and wash all the tired feet

   that’ve been blindly stumbling

      in the dark

Are you struck with her figure and face?
    How lucky you happened to meet
With none of the gossiping race,
    Who dwell in this horrible street!
They of slanderous hints never tire;
    I love to approve and commend,
And the lady you so much admire,
    Is my very particular friend!

How charming she looks — her dark curls
    Really float with a natural air;
And the beads might be taken for pearls,
    That arc twined in that beautiful hair:
Then what tints her fair features o'erspread -
    That she uses white paint some pretend;
But, believe me, she only wears red
    She's my very particular friend!

Then her voice, how divine it appears
    While carolling: "Rise gentle moon;"
Lord Crotchet lastnight stopped his ears,
    And declared that she sung out of tune;
For my part, I think that her lay
    Might to Malibran's sweetness pretend;
But people won't mind what I say —
    I'm her very particular friend!

Then her writings — her exquisite rhyme
    To posterity surely must reach;
(I wonder she finds so much time
    With four little sisters to teach!)
A critic in Blackwood, indeed.
    Abused the last poem she penned;
The article made my heart bleed —
    She's my very particular friend!

Her brother dispatched with a sword,
    His friend in a duel, last June;
And her cousin eloped from her lord,
    With a handsome and whiskered dragoon:
Her father with duns is beset,
    Yet continues to dash and to spend —
She's too good for so worthless a set —
    She's my very particular friend!

All her chance of a portion is lost,
    And I fear she'll be single for life;
Wise people will count up the cost
    Of a gay and extravagant wife:
But tis odious to marry for pelf,
    (Though the times are not likely to mend,)
She's a fortune besides in herself —
    She's my very particular friend!

That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert,
    It were useless and vain to deny;
She's a little too much of a flirt,
    And a slattern when no one is by:
From her servants she constantly parts,
    Before they have reached the year's end;
But her heart is the kindest of hearts —
    She's my very particular friend!

Oh! never have pencil or pen,
    A creature more exquisite traced;
That her style does not take with the men,
    Proves a sad want of judgment and taste;
And if to the sketch I give now,
    Some flattering touches I lend;
Do for partial affection allow —
    She's my very particular friend!

Is it just breathing?
Is it just feeling in love?
Or is it just enjoying the moments
that life offers you?
It's all of them...
It's living truly every moment of your life.
Life is too short not to feel alive.
And when the time that you've lived
the life you really wanted comes,
you'll be redeemed
and you'll remember that deep inside
you're alive,
eventhough your eyes are closed,
your heart has stopped beating,
and and your last breath has been taken away...

I will see your face,
I will smile.
Everything around me will suddenly disappear.
It will be just me and you, nobody else.
Staring at your eyes will be dreamful
like this feeling.
It will be like the movies,
so beautiful but yet so unbelievable.
I will fall in love with you
the way you fall asleep,
slowly and gently...