Death, they pronounced, at most came once.
Never to go back and not ever to rise up.
Yet I in life died – in plenty – and have
lost count, amidst the death of recurrence.
No advocate of death am I, never was.
Nor do I find an artistic allure in it.
Even so, take this from a man who’s died alot
It is not a thing to petrify but embrace.
I have come across loads of mortals and never
have I seen one, with a heart, undying.
Some of them, comes back to life, but not
the most. They stay gone, veiled, from death.
The eternal sleep is deception, like the others.
As some perish prior to their slumber, heart-broken
And some stop living with a rope or a river
Yet they all had a heart that died – infinitely.
Never to go back and not ever to rise up.
Yet I in life died – in plenty – and have
lost count, amidst the death of recurrence.
No advocate of death am I, never was.
Nor do I find an artistic allure in it.
Even so, take this from a man who’s died alot
It is not a thing to petrify but embrace.
I have come across loads of mortals and never
have I seen one, with a heart, undying.
Some of them, comes back to life, but not
the most. They stay gone, veiled, from death.
The eternal sleep is deception, like the others.
As some perish prior to their slumber, heart-broken
And some stop living with a rope or a river
Yet they all had a heart that died – infinitely.