A beautiful cry with love for your hate,
How I love to know what you’ll create.
A mirage of truths, a symphony of lies,
But everything you touch surely dies.
How sad; sad to see it vanishing,
Abandonment, Desolation, Banishing.
Deeming all those to down below,
Not Hell nor Heaven, no one can know.
But that of which you decide to conceal,
Leave us with emptiness, nothing to feel,
A prolonged sense of absolute desire,
And our dreams will all be tossed in a fire.
Would that you were ever so sweeter,
Would life not be full of those who teeter
Between the lines of right and wrong,
Not knowing you end the black bird’s song?
Or would we be filled with hope and longing,
For the new world’s gradual dawning?
No matter what, we must recall,
Death is final,
but not for us all.
I wanted to write a poem about the beauty behind death and what it means to me, just curious if anyone has any interpretations of this poem of their own?