I don’t know exactly what life is
A hollow recurrence perhaps
But death is a decayed reminiscence
“Live as if you’ll die tomorrow”
This advice I took to heart all along
A precarious life I lived
Erratic behavior, whimsical in my thoughts
Unpredictable, nothing stable in my life
I lived to the fullest
And each day I wondered
Which tomorrow I would die.
Years passed, I grew older
My back curved and hearing loss
Urination in middle of the night
The golden years have arrived!
“If” in the phrase “Live as if you’ll die tomorrow.”
Was on the verge of deletion
Losing relevance to the text it once revived.
Divine retribution, the final revenge
The fang of death was nibbling on my life.
Haunted I was by a rasping instinct
That soon I would not be any more.
The horror of oblivion, the dread of nothingness
Morphed into an eerie allure, a mystic affinity
With death, my nemesis.
The ominous bird of my imagination
Soared in the dark realm of reverie
To touch the void, to see its nothingness
A vague rendition, a concept I could surmise.
I wrote about the abyss, mocked its shadow
Praised the mystery and scorned its malice
Yearn to discern its magic.
I delved into a trance
And death appeared to me
Then it was everywhere
To keep me company
I shared with death many anecdotes
And it revealed to me so many more.
Its tales I found gloomy yet,
Fascinating to hear, so captivated I was.
Oh! Death knows a lot
It has seen it all
Death is resourceful, crafty and shrewd
At times so merciless too
But in all fairness,
Not as awful as I thought.
It does have a sense of humor
That I don’t care for at all
Once it said and I quote “Life is perhaps, death is certain.”
The wisdom was profound
The tone and the smirk on its face turned me off.
Death has its own quirks
And a softer side one needs to realize.
Ironic yes, but death appreciates art
Although it knows well
One by creating will never die.
Based on our common instinct for survival
Death and I formed an alliance, a sordid affair.
According to our tacit accord
I don’t vilify death in my poetry and prose
In any way, shape or form
No cheap innuendoes, clichéd symbolism
No excessive whining or alamode noir
Not too much darkness on my canvas,
Gloomy birds in my art.
I show more respect to destiny,
To death, that’s coming about
Bottom line, I play along.
And in lieu of this courtesy
Death would let me live,
So long as I create art.
Contract is binding on one principal alone
To live forever or simply die!
The makeup of life however, the gist of living
The Pleasure and the pain sorrow and delight
Is only mine to decide.
I must admit
Death is bliss, an inspiration,
Since it gives a sense and a meaning
To my very life.