Poetic-Verses
'' Death Could Be But A Transition ''
I'm about to die,
So I will not lie,
It's with a feeling of trepidation,
Death you cannot quantify,
Will it be nothingness or perhaps elation.
I cannot grieve,
Never did believe,
The concept of a Heaven or Hell,
The past I know you cannot retrieve,
Is there a future? Who can tell.
Though I questioned God,
Him I never did laud,
As a subject it's too far fetched,
The human mind can be really odd,
Reality we tend to have stretched.
Is there an afterlife,
Where there is no strife,
Ruled by a being supreme,
I'd hate to think I would meet my ex-wife,
What a nightmarish dream.
Are we in human form,
Where we all conform,
To the one we call the creator,
Are peace and harmony always the norm?
Who or what is a fabricator.
As I pass over,
Will the angels hover,
Awaiting to carry me away,
Will I be like the pig in clover,
Loving each and every other day.
Or will I just go,
Where I won't even know,
Who, what, why, when, where and how,
Nothing itself won't come as a blow,
As there's nothing I cannot allow.
Of atoms we're made,
So it has to be said,
It's a fact they don't ever perish,
If as stated they do not degrade,
Surely that's something to cherish.
I can live in hope,
But with death I'll cope,
As I now face decomposition,
I'll leave myself with plenty of scope,
' Death Could Be But A Transition '
So I will not lie,
It's with a feeling of trepidation,
Death you cannot quantify,
Will it be nothingness or perhaps elation.
I cannot grieve,
Never did believe,
The concept of a Heaven or Hell,
The past I know you cannot retrieve,
Is there a future? Who can tell.
Though I questioned God,
Him I never did laud,
As a subject it's too far fetched,
The human mind can be really odd,
Reality we tend to have stretched.
Is there an afterlife,
Where there is no strife,
Ruled by a being supreme,
I'd hate to think I would meet my ex-wife,
What a nightmarish dream.
Are we in human form,
Where we all conform,
To the one we call the creator,
Are peace and harmony always the norm?
Who or what is a fabricator.
As I pass over,
Will the angels hover,
Awaiting to carry me away,
Will I be like the pig in clover,
Loving each and every other day.
Or will I just go,
Where I won't even know,
Who, what, why, when, where and how,
Nothing itself won't come as a blow,
As there's nothing I cannot allow.
Of atoms we're made,
So it has to be said,
It's a fact they don't ever perish,
If as stated they do not degrade,
Surely that's something to cherish.
I can live in hope,
But with death I'll cope,
As I now face decomposition,
I'll leave myself with plenty of scope,
' Death Could Be But A Transition '
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`` Death Could Be But A Transition ``
`` Death Could Be But A Transition ``
