What is death?
I have spent every living moment drilling
On nothing more than a concept, a feeling
That perhaps one day, I will cease from existence;
A dimly lit soul, disappearing in an instant.
That I will become nothing more than a name carved on stone
In a dark casket, destined to spend eternity alone.
But then, my most treasured and dearest friend
Became the cause of her own end.
The evanescence of my dear friend’s being
Took a part of me and changed how I questioned the meaning
Of life and death itself, and how it has changed our society.
But I was sickened to see a world that watched people die idly.
It was only then that I began to realize,
Why are we, the living, so mystified by our demise?
How have we developed such romantic conceptions
For something that only causes pain and devastation?
We have created religions, and cults, and so much more
For what? A question that no one has the answer for.
Our beliefs towards this mystery are constantly changing,
Ranging from where we will go after, to who is worth saving.
And now, death has become nothing more than a number:
Data, death tolls, those stuck in eternal slumber.
It became poems and songs and a source of pride,
“I hurt myself today, oh how I wish I died.”
“No one will miss me when I leave.”
But oh, you stupid child, your sudden death gives us no time to grieve.
What it does gives us is a life without you,
And a mind filled with the constant thought of what I would do
Just to get you back,
To see
The soft rise
And fall
Of your chest.
And to
See how your eyes
Shined
With life
Once more.
And I would tell you that life
Is a far greater mystery than death.
But it is a mystery worth solving.