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Sakura 1d
Death,the end of life
Is it the end , i doubt
It's the eternal truth
that can not be denied
that can not be avoided
Death,where we all end up underneath some sheet
Death,the never-ending sleep
Death , it's peaceful
Death, where your soul leaves your body
And ascends to a higher reality
Death, it's the end of an identity
What remains behind it
Just Remains the reminisce
Remains the memories
Remains a cold soulless body
A body that will rot away  or turn into ashes
soul that disappears in a split of a second and finds the path of eternity
The soul that is eternal
Leaves behind the reminisce of the past
The person who used to be someone's parent , child , lover or friend doesn't exist anymore
They are just a memory now/
In a split of a second...
Death , it's a path to an endless road of rediscovery
Death , a path towards reincarnation
The beginning of a new journey
death,it means just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character
Death,the next great adventure
Another journey of mortality
It's not the ending, it's the beginning of a  new journey
An endless journey between mortality and immortality.
In lethargies grip and restless mind,
I come again upon the day.
Where demons of my minds design,
find acres bare to frolic and to play.

An emptiness that invades my core,
until only black thought dwells in there.
Where tiredness is all I can feel,
and darkest depression is thoughts heir.

No calming thoughts to ease my mind,
and no safety can my lost soul yet feel.
The endless sensation of putrid stagnation,
no layers to other emotions have I left to peel.

Foreboding and deep weariness dark as shadow,
accompanies each thought and task within my day.
And though I seek escape by non-participation,
against thought there is no strategy I can play.

Turmoil to life's patterns of sleep and wakefulness,
where a soul and mind each attacks my own mortality.
Until left with just one clear and rational thought,
Of how simple and complete my final escape can be.
Winning just gets harder.
Perhaps this exorcism will help yet again.
Tanishka M Sep 24
i refuse to let go of this sadness/ that wraps me up in the dead of the night/ because my calloused fingers have crushed too many shards of happiness/ only to exsanguinate poetry/ out of the blood cells/ that the doctors claim have enough haemoglobin/ despite the scars that stink on my wrists/ covered with the holy threads/ my mother asks me to wear/ so her gods protect me/ but they fail to shun the devil/ dangling on my left shoulder/ that loathes me/ yet continues to be the parasite/ that the host of my body thrives on/ because it has never known/ any other way of tenancy/ except in the house of insecurity/ that has decayed/ into blooming flowers of hatred for myself/ full of poison/ that is enough to weave a string of thoughts/ detrimental to a sense of peace/ i have never been a consumer of/ for i have only eaten from the leftovers of sanity/ that the artists before me could not afford/ and i am the flesh and bones of their temerarious ghosts/ roaming graveyards/ of miserable mortality/
Kate gritton Sep 22
I sat between the breakwaters,
Watched the sea
Make its endless dance.
It needs no command,
No decision,
It has no vision
Of past or present,
Thinks not of tomorrow
For all are irrelevance.
The sea was
And is
And will ever be.

But for me
The dance will one day cease,
The music will stop and I shall be
Just a memory.

So I need to dance more
While I can,
Hear louder music than before,
Sing and be glad
For the days I am given
So the memory
Is of joy, not sorrow
And I’ll not think
Of tomorrow
Until it comes.
M R White Sep 19
Mortality is a strange thing. I don't think of her often.
But when I do, she knocks me to my knees. Taking all the air out of my lungs. She's powerful and stoic. Who thinks of her when they are the top of the world?
Not one. But she's always there, to catch you when you're sinking into the floor. Painfully reminding you she's the only one who you speak to when the night is dark and cold.
She's tricky and sly.
Taking the old, but also the young,
a baby, hardly a week old.
a kid, barely a quarter of a century young.
How do I justify her actions? Why not me? I didn't ask for these growing pains. But again, nobody does. Nobody asks to be plucked from the Earth.
Why does she chose to ****** every beautiful being from this Earth?
Why is she so strange?
Perhaps, she must remind us that we are just mortals.
We are of this Earth, she is not.
She must remind us, because we often forget.
struggling with mortality, more than usual.
Sabika H Sep 10
Monitor the way you speak to yourself,
Catch yourself
In the midst of your own delusions.
You have mirrors
And a light in the middle
And you bounce off surfaces,
Weaknesses and solutions.
Confined in a body in a body
Revelling in a cognitive dissonance,
As you recognise within you
A drop from the divine,
You cannot ignore the infinite distance.
Graff1980 Sep 4
What a fatal flaw,
this frail frame
that holds my name,
faulty flesh
that bares my flame,

how easily I can be
deceived by what
I think I see
or how I want
reality to be.

How through
the lens of sense
that I use
I can unintentionally
obstruct the truth.

Tragic that
all the facts
that make up everything
are beyond the comprehension
of this insignificant human being.
JJ Inda Aug 30
It’s waiting
jut round the bend.
not a lover
nor a friend.

was there at the beginning,
will be there at the end.
For now it waits,
till we meet again.

-Minding my step
sidewalk’s cracked and broken.
promises littered
throughout the streets.

of what awaits,
call it the secret
of the Fates.

Life is there
in the in-between;
those moments
that build...

and death
is just
something we seldom
talk about.
G Aug 28
There's an age old story. A tale as old as time.
A feeling I can't quite muster, a voice that's not quite mine.

I've grown a lot this year, felt a lot this year, slept a lot this year, ****** a lot this year. Needless to's been one hell of a 365 days.

This poem is a  stray from tradition, it lacks rhythm, flow, but ******* it it's written of my own volition.

I've earned that right, finally making my voice heard, learning how to fight. I've lost a battle or two, don't get me wrong.

But I still raise my head, every round for the gong. I get back up, throwing punches until I see stars.

Fighting with mad love and ambition, even if it kills my heart.

What's more important? A sane mind or a sense of place? What's scarier? Losing yourself or fighting demons you can't face?

There's a lack of attention that consumes my thoughts. There's feelings of self hatred, despite finally being on top.

That's the funny thing about thinking you've made it. The only person you have to best is yourself. The only person you have to let down, is every single person you've every helped.

That's the fear for me. Never finding happiness. Enough never really being enough.

Time being an illusion that slips away and before I know it, my legacy is just a disillusion.

I've had this dream on repeat. I'm lying in a casket, looking ghastly in defeat. Death and I have become one, finally giving that ever so cherished encore to a dance we've swung too many times before.

It's lonely here in the dark. Colder than I thought. Sweeter than I imagined.

Peaceful....yeah, peaceful.
-a wish to enjoy today.
Norman Crane Aug 12
do you remember
days of being young
the creaky swing
we pushed each other on
as the horizon
rising and falling like a scythe
sliced away
the moments of our lives
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