In the end
I was, but I will cease to be,
A thought on the project called life.
And the thirst for answers
We don't know to ask,
Abandoned by time.
I am not what I was when I was born,
I have become someone else
In the elastic anxiety,
Which was really nothing to worry about.
What is beautiful
That is infinite,
Fleetingly we were all magnificent
In the oblivion,
Death is a contrast,
Unlike life where nothing is guaranteed,
A revelation to our defined being.
In the end
We we figure out the answer
To the questions that should
Not be asked,
Posthumous wisdom.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
In the end
I was, but I will cease to be,
A thought on the project called life.
And the thirst for answers
We don't know to ask,
Abandoned by time.
I am not what I was when I was born,
I have become someone else
In the elastic anxiety,
Which was really nothing to worry about.
What is beautiful
That is infinite,
Fleetingly we were all magnificent
In the oblivion,
Death is a contrast,
Unlike life where nothing is guaranteed,
A revelation to our defined being.
In the end
We we figure out the answer
To the questions that should
Not be asked,
Posthumous wisdom.
