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Description
why do we bother
trying to seek what can't be sought
and make journeys to unknown regions
only to be lost, once again

it is by fault of our human condition
the ever-present curiosity
a programmed thirst to seek
to somehow, some way, achieve
a disappointment that never leaves
a lesson we never learn
so we continue to forever
try to learn and seek

then where do our travels lead
but into the belly of the beast
devoured, but never digested
wholly
when down the pathways
we find that our ultimate goal is our own destruction
a negation
of time
of life
until we're standing
face to face
with our own shadows
our own chosen fate

these same travels always lead
to the same answer we are
all to stupid, too foolish, to see
our answers are exactly
where we never look
inside our souls, our hearts, our minds
the places we think we already know
we, who should have learned
through repeated experience
never learn the greatest truth
life has to teach any of us
there is no truth outside of
our own 'self'

but where then
does this 'self' end
but at our own expense
and not purely out of death
but the continuance of life
for where are 'we'
but desiring
almost seeking
our own intended
perfected, almost
manner in which to be concluded
and if it weren't illegal
how many would take it upon themselve
to end it
themselves
their ideal.. goodbye

that sweet bliss of death
that temptation so seductive
that urge so very strong
that haunts so many of us

and for what reason were we given
this insatiable desire of death?
whereby
we seek it more than fear it
and yet, are aghast that the thought
that we may be next
in a row
meant for more
but seeking far less
and the sand grows silent..
like the grains of the hourglass
smooth, but illusive
concealing some sort of inner turmoil
a self-inflicted, personally intended
ending

an ending yet elusive
closer comes death's call
the stronger is life's
aroma pulling us close

and what scent does life bring
but the stench of unforgiveness
a deep sensation
like breathing, but of loss
overtaking and complete, as it is
and what reason then
does life give for death
are we to live, only to constantly stare death
in the face
as if some personal vendetta
forgiven for crimes?
silence as the wind, does death come
in the night, though not always while in slumber
how simply
clean
it would be if it were always such as the case

and yet that clean
would mean stagnation
of a different sort
an emptiness
a loss of purpose
for what does this
world exist but
to support the life
that was made for it?
if life no longer exists
will this world not
in effect
be dead?

would it really be alive?
can it be said
that we are truly
in essence
be living?
can we recall a time in which
we soared
without the mechanics of logic and physics
the first in which is flawed
and the other far more difficult to comprehend
and for what?
to understand?
or to further be swept away in the depths of misery?

and what are the depths of misery?
do not they always lead to
the very same end?
the comfort of an end
that we all are horrified of
and yet seek all the same?

then do we not seek it
merely to unveil it?
are we not, in retrospect
intrigued by the prospect
of this absence of what we are
the mirror to ourselves
can never be our reflection
but a travesty of what we see in ourselves
where one is beautiful
is the opposite not grotesque
ugly, even?
or does that present, in itself
its own kind of beauty
an attraction much like death is to the living

that beauty that has its own calling
its very own niche in our hearts
a beauty intense as it is repulsive
a love that is more intense than hate
a longing for that which can never be
the perfection, the life after death, we all seek.

perfection, is in the eye of that which is seeing
for if it were, in fact
'perfect'
would so many not seek it willingly?
why then, do we seek rejuvenation
a means of getting younger
or bringing up the false illusion of such
are we not by our ages
far more appealing?
does death care for what we look like
or is it what we perceived from the start
a moral less, and thus effective
means to an end
a judge, whom will not judge us for our appearance
but for our actions
our testament
what would warrant an end
whether well deserved
or premature

and who decides whether
it's well deserved or premature?
what if that life is ended
right when it should be?
not premature, not late
but right on time?
just a well-planned death
not an 'accidental' one?

why then, do people seek idiotic means
of ending it
of ridding themselves
of others
that by which we are to be given
why are there those whom would seek to end
those lives that they created themselves
gave a soul to
but so quickly
so drastically
are forgotten about
and cast aside like garbage
are we then not like garbagemen
reapers of souls

Description
why do we bother
trying to seek what can't be sought
and make journeys to unknown regions
only to be lost, once again

it is by fault of our human condition
the ever-present curiosity
a programmed thirst to seek
to somehow, some way, achieve
a disappointment that never leaves
a lesson we never learn
so we continue to forever
try to learn and seek

then where do our travels lead
but into the belly of the beast
devoured, but never digested
wholly
when down the pathways
we find that our ultimate goal is our own destruction
a negation
of time
of life
until we're standing
face to face
with our own shadows
our own chosen fate

these same travels always lead
to the same answer we are
all to stupid, too foolish, to see
our answers are exactly
where we never look
inside our souls, our hearts, our minds
the places we think we already know
we, who should have learned
through repeated experience
never learn the greatest truth
life has to teach any of us
there is no truth outside of
our own 'self'

but where then
does this 'self' end
but at our own expense
and not purely out of death
but the continuance of life
for where are 'we'
but desiring
almost seeking
our own intended
perfected, almost
manner in which to be concluded
and if it weren't illegal
how many would take it upon themselve
to end it
themselves
their ideal.. goodbye

that sweet bliss of death
that temptation so seductive
that urge so very strong
that haunts so many of us

and for what reason were we given
this insatiable desire of death?
whereby
we seek it more than fear it
and yet, are aghast that the thought
that we may be next
in a row
meant for more
but seeking far less
and the sand grows silent..
like the grains of the hourglass
smooth, but illusive
concealing some sort of inner turmoil
a self-inflicted, personally intended
ending

an ending yet elusive
closer comes death's call
the stronger is life's
aroma pulling us close

and what scent does life bring
but the stench of unforgiveness
a deep sensation
like breathing, but of loss
overtaking and complete, as it is
and what reason then
does life give for death
are we to live, only to constantly stare death
in the face
as if some personal vendetta
forgiven for crimes?
silence as the wind, does death come
in the night, though not always while in slumber
how simply
clean
it would be if it were always such as the case

and yet that clean
would mean stagnation
of a different sort
an emptiness
a loss of purpose
for what does this
world exist but
to support the life
that was made for it?
if life no longer exists
will this world not
in effect
be dead?

would it really be alive?
can it be said
that we are truly
in essence
be living?
can we recall a time in which
we soared
without the mechanics of logic and physics
the first in which is flawed
and the other far more difficult to comprehend
and for what?
to understand?
or to further be swept away in the depths of misery?

and what are the depths of misery?
do not they always lead to
the very same end?
the comfort of an end
that we all are horrified of
and yet seek all the same?

then do we not seek it
merely to unveil it?
are we not, in retrospect
intrigued by the prospect
of this absence of what we are
the mirror to ourselves
can never be our reflection
but a travesty of what we see in ourselves
where one is beautiful
is the opposite not grotesque
ugly, even?
or does that present, in itself
its own kind of beauty
an attraction much like death is to the living

that beauty that has its own calling
its very own niche in our hearts
a beauty intense as it is repulsive
a love that is more intense than hate
a longing for that which can never be
the perfection, the life after death, we all seek.

perfection, is in the eye of that which is seeing
for if it were, in fact
'perfect'
would so many not seek it willingly?
why then, do we seek rejuvenation
a means of getting younger
or bringing up the false illusion of such
are we not by our ages
far more appealing?
does death care for what we look like
or is it what we perceived from the start
a moral less, and thus effective
means to an end
a judge, whom will not judge us for our appearance
but for our actions
our testament
what would warrant an end
whether well deserved
or premature

and who decides whether
it's well deserved or premature?
what if that life is ended
right when it should be?
not premature, not late
but right on time?
just a well-planned death
not an 'accidental' one?

why then, do people seek idiotic means
of ending it
of ridding themselves
of others
that by which we are to be given
why are there those whom would seek to end
those lives that they created themselves
gave a soul to
but so quickly
so drastically
are forgotten about
and cast aside like garbage
are we then not like garbagemen
reapers of souls